Catch Perfect
by George deValier
Summary: AU. When Berwald loses everything he is forced to move into a share house with an insane Dane, a sociopathic Norwegian, an unfathomable Icelander and a perfect Finn who makes it all worth putting up with.
1. Introduction

_Pairings: Berwald Oxenstierna/ Tino Väinämöinen (Sweden/Finland); Denmark/Norway _

_Summary: AU. When Berwald loses everything he is forced to move into a share house with an insane Dane, a sociopathic Norwegian, an unfathomable Icelander, and a perfect Finn who makes it all worth putting up with._

* * *

_Warnings: Crazy!Denmark, varying chapter lengths, randomness, Swed'n speak, language, slow updating schedule, textual mood swings, gradually __revealed__ plot points, plenty of cameos, villain!Russia, and a good dose of __**crack**__. And I apologise for Iceland, I really do, it's just that in my experience only one type of guy wears white knee high boots. I should know, I have a pair._

_..._

_What?_

* * *

_CATCH PERFECT: (Poker Terminology) To catch perfect is to catch the only card or combination of cards that could complete a winning hand._

* * *

**INTRODUCTION**

.

Berwald had never meant for it to go this far. He stared fixedly at his hand of cards and tried to ignore the stares that bored into him through the smoky haze. A pile of cash lay heaped on the table along with empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays and all the trash that accumulated in a place like this. The small dingy room was stifling, suffocating and uncannily silent. Berwald tried to breathe, and stared at his cards.

His pulse hammered in his neck and sweat rose to his forehead but he kept his face and body still. Berwald was renowned for his poker face. He slowly raised his gaze to that of his opponent. The icy blue eyes smiled tauntingly at him. Damn it all. No one ever won against this opponent. Why the hell had Berwald thought he'd be any different.

Berwald felt the cards burning his fingers. He knew he had a good hand. He knew the odds were in his favour. But he also knew that no one ever walked away from this contender with their savings or their dignity intact. And having come this far, it was impossible to back down. Everything was on the line now. There was nothing left to lose.

Finally the call came, and taking a deep breath, Berwald placed his cards on the table. He looked down at them but did not see the four of a kind. He saw his rent, his car payments, the last of everything he had left. He could not believe he had let it come this far. The four of a kind seemed nothing.

And when those icy blue eyes crinkled in laughter, Berwald knew it was over. He felt his stomach drop and watched, feeling sick, as a straight flush was laid out in front of him. An impossible hand. But Berwald should have seen it coming.

No one could beat the Russian.

And that was it. He was broke. He had nothing. He had been completely wiped out. Berwald simply nodded, stood, and walked from the room. Amidst the rising voices behind him he heard one call after him.

"We will play again soon, _da_?"

* * *

_To be continued…_


	2. Tapped Out

**CHAPTER ONE**

_TAPPED OUT: A player who has lost all of his money._

* * *

Berwald drove slowly down the narrow residential road. Situated behind the university, it was a colourful, ramshackle sort of a street obviously inhabited mainly by students. The houses were large, slightly dilapidated and many had evidence of renovations half completed then forgotten. The cars in the driveways looked old and run down. An inordinate amount of people seemed to be hanging around outside, talking over fences and strolling the footpaths, and Berwald could hear the racket of people shouting and music blaring even from inside his car.

Berwald scanned the numbers of the houses he passed. He was not exactly excited about moving into a share house… in fact he was dreading it… but after his last disastrous game he didn't have much of a choice. Having lost everything, and now completely broke, he had five days to move out of his apartment. So when he'd spotted the ad for a 'gay-friendly, Scandinavian flatmate' in the student paper he'd figured that, even though it sounded strange, it was probably his best option. He was a bit apprehensive, though, based on the phone call he'd made the day before.

"Hello?" A bored voice answered after three rings.

"Hi. Call'n 'bout the ad."

"Excuse me?"

"The ad, in the paper."

"Oh right, right. ICELAND!" Berwald winced as the voice shouted in his ear. "PHONE FOR YOU!"

A few seconds later. "Hello?"

"I… hi. Call'n 'bout the ad."

"'kay big boy, so it's twenty bucks for the first five minutes, fifty every five after that. You got the PayPal info there?"

"Er… the ad 'bout the flatmate."

"Oh, for Christ's… Norway you idiot he's calling about the flatmate wanted ad."

A few seconds later the original voice came back on the line. "You can come look at the place tomorrow. Number 58. You'll know it when you see it."

Berwald did not have a chance to respond before the line went dead.

Coming back to the present, Berwald slowed down as some students kicked a soccer ball onto the street and nearly ran in front of his car. He gritted his teeth in annoyance. Some people deserved to get run over. This did not seem like his kind of place so far. The students waved a halfhearted apology and ran off the road into a group hanging around on a front lawn. One of them ran out onto the footpath and Berwald nearly swerved off the road… was that blonde guy naked?

He was just gaining control of the car again when he saw it. An enormous Danish flag flying on a front yard a few houses over. Now he knew what they'd meant by knowing it when he saw it. Checking the mailbox he saw it was number 58 and pulled into the driveway behind a battered old Volvo. Taking a deep breath, and still wondering if he was doing the wise thing, he got out of the car and walked to the front door.

Berwald was interrupted mid knock as a tall blond man brandishing a beer can threw open the door. "Yeah what?" he shouted.

"Here 'bout the ad," said Berwald, taken aback.

The blond narrowed his eyes. "Which one?"

"Stud'nt paper."

"What?"

"Stud'nt paper," Berwald repeated a little louder.

"Aaah… sure thing, come on in." The blond grinned widely and stepped back, beckoning Berwald into the house. "So let's see, that was the ad for the gay friendly, Scandinavian flatmate… you Scandinavian?"

Berwald nodded. "Swedish."

"Awesome, guess we don't need to ask if you're gay friendly then, am I right?" He roared with laughter. "Come on in, Sweden."

Berwald followed him warily and was hit by a strong smell of smoke and air freshener. He glanced around the large, open house cautiously. Some trash laden couches centred around a TV to the left of the room and a young man in a blue beret sat reading at a large dining table to the right. He didn't look up.

"You want a beer?" asked the loud blond, opening a small fridge in the corner of the room. It was surrounded by plastic crates, bottles both full and empty, and plastic cups. Berwald shook his head but the blond threw him a can anyway. "So you must go to the university then," he continued after taking a swig from his own can. "Haven't seen you around. What are you studying?"

Berwald had been dreading this part of the conversation. "M'not a student."

"Ah, you work there then?"

Berwald nodded and hoped he would leave it at that. No such luck.

"You're not a professor are you?"

"No. Groundskeep'r."

There was a silence as the blond stared at him. Berwald stared back.

"Huh."

Actually, that was a far better reaction than Berwald was used to.

"So. I'm Denmark."

"Denm'rk?" What kind of name was Denmark?

"You're kind of hard to understand man."

Berwald just shrugged. He was used to hearing that, although he wasn't sure why. He thought his accent had disappeared years ago.

Denmark broke into another grin and laughed loudly. "Sweden, you're all right. I like you. When can you move in?"

Berwald just stared at Denmark. He wasn't good with words at the best of times. This certainly wasn't one of those.

"Let me show you around the place," said Denmark, throwing his arm casually around Berwald's shoulder. Berwald fought the instinct to throw it off.

"'k…"

Denmark led him over to the dining table. "This is my sugar plum, Norway. Isn't he sweet?" Denmark ruffled Norway's beret.

"Don't touch me," growled Norway without looking up from his book.

Denmark giggled and pinched Norway's cheek. "Yes you are just the sweetest cutest little pixie in all of Scandinavia you are!"

"I'm going to kill you one day."

"Hehe, silly little Norway."

Berwald blinked a few times in surprise. He started to wonder about Denmark's mental wellbeing. And what was with the names?

"And over here we have the living room," continued Denmark, steering Berwald over to the circle of couches. What Berwald had taken for a large pile of rubbish was actually two guys passed out covered in cushions, fast food wrappers and empty bottles. "This here is Faeroe, and this is Greenland."

"My name's Mike," came a muffled voice from beneath a cushion.

"Shut up Greenland. Now, Sweden, as the newest house guest you have last choice in the television viewing schedule. If you wish to view a program, you must submit the title and time of the show, in writing, at least one week prior to its airtime. Please also include a brief summary of its content and why you…"

"Don't watch much TV," Berwald interrupted quickly.

"Ah. Well there you go. Study's just through the back there and the kitchen is right through here…"

Berwald was growing certain that the entire household was quite mad. Anyone who chose to live with this man had to be. It was probably best to leave immediately and try his luck somewhere else. He tried to protest as Denmark steered him through the house again. "Look, th'nks and all but I th'nk I might…" Berwald broke off as they entered the kitchen.

"Finland!" cried Denmark cheerfully. "When did you get home?"

The young man in the kitchen glanced up as he shut the fridge. "Hey, Den. I just came in through the back."

"Sweden, this here is Finland."

Berwald suddenly felt his heart hammering in his chest. The young man looked up at him warily as he moved back to grip the counter behind him. As their eyes met, Finland's light violet eyes darkened and quickly blinked away. He stared shyly at his shoes, his light blond hair falling in his eyes. He was the most beautiful thing Berwald had ever seen.

"Finland, meet Sweden, our new house mate."

Berwald opened his mouth to speak but found his mouth was dry. He coughed a few times before finally managing to say "'t's B'rw'ld."

"Huh?" said Denmark.

"B'rw'ld."

"Brrwll…" Denmark attempted. "He's a little hard to understand, this one."

"Berwald," said Finland. "It's very nice to meet you. My name's Tino." Tino smiled but stayed pressed against the bench behind him, his eyes still on his shoes. He twisted one of his feet on its side and bit his lower lip slightly.

Tino. Tino was beautiful. Tino was perfect.

"So anyway Sweden, about your room. You'll be staying with Finland here…"

Tino would be sleeping in the same room as him. Berwald felt his brain cease to function at this point. "Huh?"

"Yeah, look I know we advertised another room but you know how these things go..." Denmark shrugged and took a gulp from his beer can. "Decided we needed it for the twister mat."

"What… but… wait.." spluttered Tino.

"Hey hey, it's all good Finland, we moved some of your stuff today and put that old bed in your room. Found your stack of pornos under the bedside table." Denmark winked.

Tino turned red. "Huh… you…" Tino looked up at Berwald and shook his head, his eyes wide. "That's not…"

"Haha just kidding, this kid's innocent as they come, I swear." Denmark was suddenly inches from Berwald's face. "Which is why you're NOT staying in his room. We've rigged you up a little alcove upstairs. I'm sure you'll be completely comfortable."

Berwald contemplated the situation. The place was a mess, there were guys passed out on the couch, and this 'Denmark' seemed either very irritating or kind of insane. Then Berwald looked over at Tino and found himself not so eager to leave. He shrugged. "Sounds good t'me."

* * *

_To be continued…_


	3. Coffeehousing

**CHAPTER TWO**

_COFFEEHOUSING: The act of distracting an opponent by chattering and banter._

* * *

The next day Berwald arrived at his new home with all his belongings packed into a few boxes. Looking at everything he owned packed up in his car he suddenly realised how little he actually had to show for himself after all these years. Some clothes, some books… and everything else lost in only a few unfortunate games on the circuit. As he opened his side door, several of the boxes fell onto the driveway. He sighed and bent to pick them up.

"Need a hand?"

Berwald turned around to find Norway staring unsmiling down at him. It seemed to be the only facial expression he had.

"Yeah, sure."

It took only one trip for Berwald and Norway to carry everything through the enormous house and upstairs into Berwald's tiny room at the end of the hall. Berwald placed down the load and nodded. "Th'nks."

Norway dropped the boxes in a heap with a loud bang. His expression remained unchanged. "Whatever. Make yourself at home. Ice and Fin are at school. Den's asleep. I'm going out."

Berwald decided he liked Norway. Slightly strange as he was. He was quiet and to the point.

"Well. Bye."

And he didn't hang around. Berwald nodded again as Norway walked out the door, leaving him alone in the… well, bedroom wasn't quite the right word for it. It turned out that the 'alcove' Denmark had referred to was really just a curtained off section of Tino's room. The bedrooms in the old house were enormous, but that still didn't change the fact that all that separated Berwald from Tino was a couple of curtains.

Berwald did not really want to head downstairs, a little worried about running into Denmark, so he passed the time unpacking his few belongings and trying unsuccessfully not to think about seeing Tino again. The alcove wasn't that bad, really. There was a bed, a desk and a wardrobe, and just enough room to move around comfortably. However to get to it he had to enter Tino's side of the room, which was open, sunny and undoubtedly the cleanest room of the house.

He had not even seen Tino since the afternoon before in the kitchen, but he was all Berwald had thought about since. Those big violet eyes haunted his memory. He was quite aware of how ridiculous it all was… Berwald knew absolutely nothing about Tino, but was moving into this place entirely because of him. He'd never believed in anything as absurd as love at first sight before, but he found himself quickly reconsidering. There was probably another way to explain this sudden, complete, overwhelming infatuation, but Berwald certainly could not think of one easily. Berwald had never even really considered love before, being quite certain he had never felt it, and probably never would. But now, from nowhere, this chance encounter with the most perfect person he had ever laid eyes on had him suddenly floored. And if he had not lost that game he never would have met him. Fate could be as random as the cards.

A few hours later, Berwald looked up and noticed through his one small window that the light was fading slowly. He took his antique pocket watch out of his pocket. It was probably the one item he owned that had any value whatsoever, and also the one item that he could never part with. The old fashioned hands read four p.m. Berwald had not eaten since breakfast, too busy trying to get out of his old apartment before the deadline. So he kicked the last empty box into the corner and decided to brave going downstairs to forage for food.

Greenland and Faeroe had not moved from their spots on the couch. The television blasted a steady stream of awful afternoon game shows into the large, silent room. Berwald made his way to the kitchen and hoped he wouldn't run into Denmark, even while realising that at some stage he was going to have to. He was hoping at least to put it off as long as possible.

Berwald walked into the kitchen and looked around. The first thing he noticed was that Denmark was not there. The next thing he noticed was that Tino was. Berwald's stomach flipped. Looking up from stirring coffee, Tino gave a tiny squeak and immediately backed up into the bench behind him. For several moments their eyes remained locked. Berwald was the first to look away. He did not know what to say. He never knew what to say. Tino just seemed scared of him, but Berwald was used to that. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Sorry for takin' yer bedroom."

Tino shook his head, wide eyed. "It's fine." His fingers were turning white as he gripped the coffee mug. "I mean, that room is huge anyway."

Berwald nodded. All right. Good start. Tino hadn't run screaming at least. "What r'ye study'n?" he asked, trying to be social. It took an effort.

Tino just looked confused. "Studying?"

"At college."

"Oh, um…" Tino turned bright red and looked at the floor. "I'm still at high school."

"Oh." Berwald didn't quite know what to say to that.

"Well, I'm in my last year of high school, I mean, I've nearly finished. I'll be at the university next year, I imagine. I've been friends with Ice for ages, so when I needed somewhere to stay he suggested I live here. Iceland is Norway's brother, you probably haven't met him yet. Oh, you must be confused about the names. You see, Denmark's kind of… a little… well, he's completely insane. It's really not that bad, but you must be a little overwhelmed, Denmark is a bit much, isn't he?" Tino spoke in a rush while staring at the floor and gripping the mug with shaking hands. He seemed terrified, but Berwald was completely captivated. "I'm sorry. Am I talking too much? I talk too much when I get nervous. Not, I mean, that you make me nervous, except that you are kind of scary, and…" Tino trailed off, his face frozen in dismay. They stood in silence for a few moments before Tino finally looked up at Berwald and, seemingly at a loss for words, whispered, "Would you like a coffee?"

Berwald just nodded and Tino slowly placed the mug on the bench and carefully pushed it across the counter. Berwald couldn't stop his lips twitching in a tiny smile. "Th'nks."

"You're welcome," said Tino, still in a whisper. He immediately busied himself making another cup, biting his lip in concentration. Berwald tried not to stare. Tino already had him fascinated. Though he was dying to know, Berwald did not ask why Tino would need a place to live while still at school. That sounded like a difficult issue.

After only a moment more of silence Tino took a deep breath and continued. "What was I talking about? Oh that's right. Denmark's names just kind of catch on I guess. It's okay here. Kind of fun. Denmark was more than happy to add a Finn to his little Scandinavia. My family moved here from Finland when I was ten."

"Came from Sw'den when I was fifteen."

At least that was something they could understand each other on. Tino met Berwald's gaze for a brief moment and smiled. Berwald's heart skipped a beat.

"Well, Denmark is obviously Danish. And Norway and Iceland's mother is Icelandic and their father's Norwegian." Tino shrugged. "Good enough for Denmark."

"'n the guys on the couch?" asked Berwald, desperate to keep the conversation going even as he realised that this was the most he had spoken in about a year.

"I have no idea. I think they just come with the house."

"Ah."

"So, um, do you go to college with Denmark and Norway?" asked Tino quietly, staring intently at his coffee as he stirred it.

Berwald paused and looked down at his own coffee. The question he hated answering. "No," he said hesitantly. "Work there. Groundskeep'r."

Tino responded brightly. "Oh, that's interesting. Do you like it?"

Berwald glanced up, taken aback by Tino's genuine response. Berwald was used to a bad reaction when telling people his job… but Tino was not snobbish or amused like most people tended to be. Berwald started to answer but was cut off as someone entered the kitchen. He drank his coffee instead.

"Afternoon Ice," said Tino cheerfully. "This is our new flatmate, Berwald."

Ice eyed Berwald over from head to toe and whistled lowly. "So you're Sweden. You really are a big boy, aren't you?"

Oh. Iceland. The guy on the phone. Berwald blushed lightly.

Iceland looked around the same age as Tino, with white hair, white knee high boots, and the tightest white pants Berwald had ever seen. He crossed the room, opened the fridge, and slowly bent over to reach the bottom shelf. Berwald nearly dropped his mug. After what felt like far too long, Iceland finally straightened up and turned around with a can of coke. "Wow, this thing was really jammed in back there." He winked at Berwald who simply stared, slightly stunned. Iceland looked over at Tino. "Fin, hurry up if you want me to help with your math homework, I'm indisposed after six p.m."

"Oh, sure." Tino hadn't seemed to have noticed Ice's display… or else he was just used to it. "What is the time?"

Berwald quickly pulled out his pocket watch, grateful for a distraction. "'t's four tw'nty."

Tino took a few hesitant steps closer and looked down at the antique. "That's such a beautiful watch," he said, smiling shyly. Berwald's pulse beat faster. He was lost. "So, I guess I'll see you later."

Berwald nodded, his mouth dry. "Later."

Ice gave Berwald a tiny wave and as he sashayed from the room. "Bye for now, Sweden."

Berwald let out a deep breath. His head swirled with confused feelings. After meeting Tino for a second time, he was more convinced than ever that he was completely infatuated. That shy smile, his adorable politeness, the way he spoke in a nervous rush without seeming to think about what he was saying. However Berwald could see that he made Tino rather nervous. Berwald never tried to evoke that reaction, though he was rather used to it by now. He wished he could find a way to tell Tino there was no reason to be scared, but Berwald never was good with words.

Berwald stayed in the relative safety of the kitchen for the next hour or so, grabbing something to eat and cleaning the massive pile of dishes in the sink. Only after the room was sparkling clean did he decide to dare to venture back into the living room. He quickly wished he hadn't.

"Sweden! I'm glad we've caught you! We just have a couple of rules we have to go over, very important, won't take much of your time." Denmark grasped Berwald by the arm, led him to a couch and practically threw him down on it. Berwald glared at him angrily. Usually that scared people, but Denmark just stood over him, looking down with folded arms.

"Denmark, honestly, do you have to do this every time?" asked Iceland as he and Tino entered from the back study. Tino hovered behind Iceland, smiling apologetically at Berwald and mouthing something that looked like '_sorry_'.

"Of course he does. This is the only time he ever gets to exercise a tiny bit of power," muttered Norway. Berwald hadn't even noticed him sitting at the table behind them. "Makes him feel like a big man. Pathetic."

"Ohhh, someone's upset they haven't had enough attention today!" said Denmark in a sing song voice. "Don't worry sugar, I'll give you an extra long foot massage before bed!"

"You touch my feet and I will kick you in the teeth with them."

"Poor cranky baby! I'm keeping you up too late at night, aren't I?"

"One day, Denmark. One day. You won't even see it coming."

"Silly Norway. Okay! House rules!"

Tino raised a hand hesitantly. "Um, Denmark, you scared off the last three housemates with this…"

"HOUSE RULES!" shouted Denmark. "Number one. Rent is due every Monday and goes in the little jar next to the fridge."

Berwald nodded. All right. Seemed sensible.

"Number two. No bringing home one nighters after two a.m."

Iceland winked at him and Berwald immediately averted his eyes.

"Number three. If someone calls and asks you what you are wearing, do not, as Fin did the first time, give them a detailed description of your current ensemble including fabric type and designer name and then get into an in depth discussion of current fashion trends." Tino went red and ducked his head behind Iceland. "Just pass the phone to Ice."

Berwald felt himself blush lightly again.

"Number four," continued Denmark, "Do not wander onto number 47's lawn. Switzerland tends to shoot first and ask questions later. Number five. No fraternising with the Russians next door." Denmark turned his head and muttered to himself, "Goddamn Russians always after Scandinavia."

"Um…" began Berwald.

"Number six! Do not give any alcohol to the British bloke two doors down. This is really more a guideline than a rule, but if you do choose to ignore it, may the gods help you, and don't say I didn't warn you. Number seven. Don't ask about the axe in the shed. Number eight. Forget I mentioned rule number seven. Number nine. The eggs in the fridge with the smiley faces are mine. Do not eat them. Buy your own. Are you listening to this, Norway?"

Norway flipped Denmark the finger without looking up.

"Rule number ten: touch Iceland and I'll kill you. Rule number eleven: touch Finland and I'll kill you. Rule number twelve: touch Norway and _he'll _kill you. I'm serious about that one. Rule number thirteen: touch Greenland and Faeroe if you really must, I'm not gonna ask questions, it's not my place to judge."

"Hey!" came the voice of Greenland… or was it Faeroe… from the other couch.

"Rule number fourteen: if someone comes to the door and asks any questions whatsoever the correct answer is 'He is out of the country.' Rule number fifteen: under absolutely NO circumstances are you to play ABBA in this house. I understand that being Swedish this will be particularly difficult for you, but believe me, you don't want to know the reason for this rule and if you ever break it you will quickly wish you hadn't. Rule number…"

"Think I've got it," Berwald nearly shouted. This looked like it could go on all night. "If I have any quest'ns I'll ask."

Denmark flashed a grin. "Good thinking, Sweden. Anyway, if you need a reminder, the rules are posted in the study."

"Right. Good. Um. I'm g'nna go now." Berwald stood and rushed out of the room as fast as he could without actually running.

Behind him he could hear Denmark laughing raucously. "I like him, he's gonna be fun."

"I'll say," agreed Iceland.

"Don't be mean, guys." Tino's voice was the last thing Berwald heard before he fled up the stairs. "He's nice. I like him… I think."

* * *

_To be continued…_


	4. Maniac

**CHAPTER THREE**

_MANIAC: A wild, reckless player._

* * *

Berwald quite liked his job. Working all day in the open surrounded by greenery and gardens was the perfect antidote to the dark nights he was used to spending in dingy back alley bars with dingy dangerous people. Plus he was good at it, he didn't have to speak to anyone, and he actually enjoyed the long hours… it gave him plenty of time to think. In fact that last reason was proving to be more a curse than a blessing today. Berwald had just spent two hours mowing the sports field before remembering that he had already done it that morning.

Berwald had not slept well the night before. He hadn't left the safety of the alcove since fleeing up the stairs after Denmark's mad rules rant. Though he made sure he got to bed before Tino, the entire night he could not stop thinking about how he was just on the other side of the curtain. Neither could he stop worrying about Denmark, about how he was going to fit in, about whether this was a good idea, about how he had made a completely stupid mistake moving in here. Berwald made sure he was up at the crack of dawn and out of the house before anyone woke up. But he could not stop himself from glancing down at Tino as he crept past… and from feeling guilty thinking how lovely Tino looked as he slept.

Berwald stifled a yawn as he walked down the hall. He did not often enter the interior of the university, and he felt completely out of place as he hurried as fast as he could through the hallway. In his haste to leave the house he had forgotten his key to the back shed and he was quickly starting to wish he had headed back to the house to pick it up instead of going to borrow one from the janitor's room. The students threw Berwald surprised and suspicious looks as he walked past in his dirt and grass stained clothes. He ignored them. Berwald was used to ignoring people. Just as he neared his destination he heard a rather unwelcome voice behind him.

"Heya Sweden, how goes it?"

Berwald turned to find Denmark pushing through the throng of students and grinning widely at him. Norway trailed behind, looking bored. As usual. Berwald groaned inwardly. This was just what he did not need right now. Or ever, really, come to think of it.

Denmark stopped in front of him, still grinning inanely. Berwald stared evenly back. "Whatcha doing in here? Man, you kind of stink. And you're trailing dirt all over the floor. Free at twelve? Great. Meet us in the cafeteria, we're gonna throw stuff at the Russian kids."

Norway rolled his eyes and said in a bored voice, "YOU'RE gonna throw stuff at the Russian kids. And probably get your ass kicked again."

Denmark's eyes went wide. "Don't listen to him, Sweden, that's a lie. I've never had my ass kicked."

Norway scoffed. "Yes you have, I've been the one to do it."

"Yes but that was done in a loving, consensual way in a controlled environment," said Denmark in a low voice.

Norway closed his eyes and touched his forehead. "You have no idea, do you Denmark."

"I love you too honey." Denmark looked back at Berwald and grinned. "So, Sweden, gonna join us?"

Berwald furrowed his brow, shook his head, and continued down the hall to the janitor's room. What had he gotten himself into with this guy?

Denmark called after him. "Your loss, Sweden!"

Only a few minutes later as Berwald headed back down the hall, having retrieved the key, he heard a massive commotion coming from the cafeteria as he passed. Normally he would leave it, being none of his business, but this time certain words being yelled caught his attention.

"Denmark, you are totally the biggest jerk in, like, the entire universe!"

"Me? That Russian is the one that started it!"

"Damn it Denmark, for the fortieth time, I am NOT Russian I am LITHUANIAN!"

"What the hell is the difference?"

"Oh you did NOT just say that!"

Berwald very hesitantly entered the cafeteria to find Denmark standing on a chair, yelling down at a blonde girl… or was that a guy?… and a handsome young brunet, both of them covered in what looked like the contents of the day's lunch service. Norway sat at the table beside Denmark, nonchalantly scrolling through his cell phone. Two chairs lay broken on the ground beside them. Berwald watched silently, feeling he should leave, but confusion and curiosity rooting him to the spot.

The blond tried to brush the mess from his sleeves. "This jacket is from Louis Vuitton's new collection. I had to order it from Paris. Do you have, like, any idea how much it cost?"

"Don't stress sweetheart, I'm sure Mother Russia will provide you with a new one."

"You do this every time, Denmark!" cried the brunet, his fists clenched. "If you've got a problem with Ivan, take it up with him, it's nothing to do with us!"

Denmark spread his hands and shrugged. "But this way is more fun! Besides, the best way to get at the Mother Bear is to go after the cubs."

The blond and the brunet just stared incomprehensibly. Denmark pointed at them.

"That's you... you're the cubs."

They kept staring, looking as bewildered as Berwald felt.

Denmark spoke slowly. "And Russia is the Mother Be..."

"WE GET IT!" cried the brunet, his voice edged with frustration. "Can you hear yourself? Do you realise how insane you sound? What the hell is your…"

Denmark sighed loudly and waved his hands dismissively. "Fly away, little Russian, back to the Motherland."

The brunet turned bright red and looked for a moment as though he was going to scream. "I'm not… Russ… I'm from… GAH! That's it, Denmark, I'm going to…"

Denmark's face lit up. This seemed to be what he was waiting for. "You're going to what? Gonna run to him? Good! Now listen… you tell that fat, drunken, communist bast…"

"MR KØHLER!"

"Oh for God's sake…" groaned Denmark.

Berwald glanced around in mild surprise to see the Dean of the university storming into the cafeteria. Well this would be interesting.

"Why," began the Dean, his face already red and his voice exasperated, "…why, on the very few occasions that I decide to visit the student population, do I always find you acting like a complete hooligan?"

Denmark just glared down at him. "My name is Denmark," he said smoothly.

"Your name is not Denmark and if you keep insisting it is I am going to insist that you see a psychiatrist." The Dean glanced down at Norway who stared back evenly. "Both of you."

"I saw a psychiatrist. Once." Norway left the sentence at that, turning his attention back to his phone. The Dean just blinked a few times and turned back to Denmark.

"Tell me what happened here. And get down off that chair!"

Denmark grudgingly jumped off the chair and shrugged. "The Russian kids started it."

"I'M NOT RUSSIAN!" the brunet screamed, looking dangerously close to having a fit.

"We totally did not start it!" cried the blond, stamping his foot.

Denmark shouted back, "You totally did, you threatened Scandinavian neutrality in 1939!"

The brunet just looked bewildered. "WHAT?" He shook his head a few times. "Seriously, is he really this stupid?" He directed the question at Norway.

"You have no idea." Norway didn't look up from his phone.

"Enough!" The Dean pointed at the broken chairs, then at Denmark. "You are paying for this."

Denmark groaned. "Man, some people just can NOT take a joke!"

"I'll fix 'em." As soon as Berwald spoke the words he regretted them.

Denmark spun around, noticed Berwald for the first time, and broke into a huge smile. "There you are, then. My man Sweden here's gonna fix 'em. Any other problems?"

The Dean looked at Berwald, back at Denmark, and narrowed his eyes angrily. "I'm warning you! The slightest hint of any more trouble and you are on academic suspension!"

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks Sweden, I owe ya one." Denmark nodded to the two food covered guys. "Poland. Lithuania. Always a pleasure. Do give my regards to the Mother Bear. Come, Norway my love, our work here is done."

Berwald watched as Denmark sauntered out of the cafeteria and Norway followed, still absorbed in his phone. Berwald turned, looked at the fuming Poland and Lithuania and the angry Dean, and shrugged apologetically.

"How the hell do you know him, Berwald?" asked the Dean. Despite how other staff members felt, Berwald had always liked the Dean of Students. He was a direct, serious sort of guy, even for a German. Sure his waist length white hair was slightly out of the ordinary, and he had a seriously strange sort of love-hate relationship with the Italian professor of Roman history, but Berwald had always respected him. And now he felt rather embarrassed in front of him.

"... Long story. I'll fix yer chairs." Berwald picked up the chairs and quickly left the room with them. He wondered again, not for the first time and he was sure not for the last, just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

After an exhausting afternoon spent fixing cafeteria chairs, on top of his normal workload and contemplating his present situation, Berwald arrived home from work that evening to find Denmark standing on the front lawn, holding a half empty bottle and yelling at the next door neighbour. Berwald closed his eyes briefly. He thought the display in the cafeteria earlier had been quite enough to deal with for one day. He finally opened his eyes and, after first noticing that the half empty bottle was full strength Danish akvavit, he then noticed the tall, smiling man on the receiving end of Denmark's verbal abuse. Berwald recognised him immediately, with a sinking feeling in his gut and a slightly hazy feeling in his head. Ivan Braginski. The Russian. The best poker player on the circuit and the very reason Berwald was stuck in this house in the first place. What the hell was he doing on the front lawn of the house next door? Surely he couldn't be their neighbour? Berwald stood watching, surprised and confused, as Denmark shouted drunkenly.

"Fuck off Russia, your little commy protectorates are the ones that started it."

Ivan just smiled that unnerving smile that Berwald found so unpleasantly familiar. "From what I have heard, that is not the case."

"Well, what can I tell ya. Your minions need to toughen up."

Ivan shook his head. "Why are you always trying to start something, my friend?"

"I'm trying to start something? I'M trying to start something? Come over here and say that, and I'll show you who's trying to start something!" Denmark took a large swig from the bottle. "And I'm not your _friend_, Russki."

Berwald shook himself and walked over to Denmark, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Come'n, leave't." Berwald knew enough of the Russian to know that he did not want to get involved in a fight with him. Though Denmark seemed desperate to start one.

Denmark just shook Berwald off. "Leave it Sweden, leave it, it's none of your business."

Ivan's face lit up as he finally noticed Berwald. He smiled, cheerful as ever. "Berwald! My old friend! What a small world this is! What brings you to our little street?" That falsely cheerful tone, that strong accent. The Russian's voice was all too familiar.

Berwald glared at Ivan. "Movin' in."

"My goodness… moving from your nice apartment to a student house... Now why must you do this? I would have thought you could afford better." Ivan's grin never faltered. Berwald felt anger rise in his throat.

"You know each other?" asked Denmark, looking from Ivan to Berwald suspiciously.

"No," said Berwald quickly. "Come inside."

"I'm having a conversation, Sweden."

"Conv'rsation's over." Berwald looked back at Ivan to find the Russian still staring at him. They glared across at each other. Berwald could barely contain the hatred he felt for the man. As their eyes met, Ivan's expression darkened and he muttered something inaudibly to himself. Denmark immediately spun in his direction and tensed angrily.

"What was that?"

Ivan just smiled again. "Nothing."

"You're a complete freak, Russia. Don't think I don't know what goes on in that sick head of yours…" And Denmark was off ranting again.

Berwald quickly realised he was not going to get anywhere like this so he headed inside to see if he could find any help there. As soon as he stepped through the front door he was hit by an overpowering smell. A heavy cloud of smoke hung in the air. Greenland and Faeroe reclined on the couch smoking something from some strange contraption while Norway sat at his usual spot at the table, typing on a laptop computer. Berwald stood waiting for a few moments but no one looked up. "Um… Denm'rk's drunk."

"Denmark's always drunk," said Norway, unmoving.

"Th'nk we should… uh… bring him inside."

"Why? Wouldn't it be more interesting to let the Russian beat him to a pulp?"

Berwald tried to find a response but quickly realised he had reached the limit of his conversational ability. He was just deciding to let it go, being none of his business after all, when he noticed Tino hovering nervously by the kitchen door. Berwald's heart jumped and he immediately felt himself riddled with nerves.

"Denmark does this all the time, you know," said Tino quietly. "Usually he just passes out on the lawn, we're all used to it, but ah… I can try and help, I suppose he has been yelling for a while now and…"

"S'okay," said Berwald quickly. Berwald had seen the outcome of some of the Russian's fights. He definitely did not want Tino to get involved. Berwald was surprised by the sudden strong wave of protectiveness he felt.

"No, really... I don't mind, we really should try and quiet him, I think Iceland is trying to study, and I… I don't mind," Tino repeated. He let go of the doorframe, edged around Berwald, and made his way swiftly to the front door. Berwald followed reluctantly.

Berwald kept a close eye on Tino as he walked onto the front lawn and approached Denmark slowly. "Come on Den, don't you think it's time you came inside?" Tino asked in a calm voice. "It's getting a little late."

Denmark groaned loudly. "What is everyone's problem, I am just trying to have a civilized conversation here! Where the hell was I... Now listen here, Russki, _jeg plejede at kneppe fyre som dig i faengslet_."

Berwald raised an eyebrow and hoped fervently that Ivan did not understand Danish. After a short pause, Tino gave an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry Ivan, he's just had a little too much to drink."

"Not at all, Tino." Berwald did not like the way Ivan smiled at Tino. It was as cheerful as ever, but there was something darker in his eyes. Something almost… predatory. Berwald mustered all his strength to throw Ivan the sternest, most intimidating glare he could manage, the glare that made most men shrink away. But Ivan just turned his gaze from Tino and gave Berwald an indifferent smile. Denmark seemed oblivious as he continued ranting, now in Danish. Ivan chuckled softly. "Goodness, how do you manage to live with him? Remember, Tino, my offer still stands... You are free to move in with us whenever you wish."

Berwald clenched his fists while Denmark paused in his tirade. Berwald was not sure who felt more angry. "You trying to steal my Finn?" asked Denmark, his voice dangerously low.

"And Berwald is also welcome, of course... There is plenty of room!"

Denmark went white, then red, then appeared apoplectic. After opening and closing his mouth a few times he finally exploded. "Goddamn you Russia, Finland and Sweden are under Danish rule, do you hear me! DANISH RULE! If you so much as THINK..."

"'k, that's it." Berwald had had enough. He grabbed Denmark's collar and physically dragged him across the lawn, checking to see that Tino was following behind. He ignored Denmark as he continued to yell.

"Code red! Invasion imminent! Somebody get me my axe! Man battle stations! We're at war with Russia!"

Berwald dragged Denmark through the door, past the unnoticing Norway, and didn't stop until he reached the couch where he threw him down heavily. He opened his mouth but didn't know what to say. "Er. Yer not s'pposed to drink that stuff from the bottle."

Denmark looked at the bottle of akvavit in his hand. "Sweden, you're absolutely right. I need a beer with this. Greenland, get me a beer."

Greenland just handed over the smoking contraption. "Here, man."

Denmark took it, inhaled deeply, and muttered, "Commy bastards," before passing out on the couch.

Berwald looked from Denmark to Greenland to Norway and finally to Tino, who quickly looked away. No one seemed surprised by Denmark's behavior. A moment later Iceland entered the room from the study and glanced around the room disdainfully. "Some of us are busy. What's the commotion?"

"Denmark," said Norway simply.

Iceland leaned over the back of the couch and prodded the unconscious Dane with his finger. "Huh. How'd you get him onto the couch?"

"Sweden," said Norway.

Iceland whistled and looked Berwald over admiringly. "Nice one, manhandled him all by yourself did you? Maybe…"

"Give it up, Ice," interrupted Norway loudly. "You can quit the act, Sweden's never paying you for anything. He's infatuated with Fin."

Berwald bit back a gasp and tried not to choke. Iceland gave a little sigh and shrugged.

"Oh well, worth a try."

"It was a valiant effort, brother."

Iceland turned, fell onto the couch beside the unconscious Denmark, and picked up the remote. "Move it, Sweden, you're blocking the TV."

"Thought you were busy," said Norway.

Iceland shrugged again. "_'Dancing with the Stars'_ is about to start."

"Ooh! Everyone shut up and leave the room!" cried Faeroe suddenly, reaching across the couch for the remote.

Iceland held it out of Faeroe's reach and stared up at Berwald disdainfully. "That means you, Sweden. I can't see through you, you know."

Berwald got the feeling Iceland would be treating him rather differently from now on. He quickly moved out of the way and retreated to the safety of the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, he took a few deep breaths. This was certainly more than he had expected. Far more than he knew how to deal with. He wondered, for a very brief second, if it was worth it. Then he suddenly noticed Tino had followed and looked over as he stood uncertainly in the doorway. Berwald's heart flipped in his chest. Was it worth it… what a completely ridiculous question.

"Sorry about that," said Tino quietly as he looked at the floor. "That's kind of, um, a regular occurrence around here. Denmark doesn't like the guys next door much."

"'Specially the R'ssian guy?"

"No. Well. There's a bit of history there."

"Hm?" Berwald couldn't help being interested in that.

"Oh, haha…" Tino quickly waved a hand dismissively. "Den doesn't really have a reason for not liking them… he doesn't really have a reason for most of the crazy things he thinks or does. Reason doesn't really occur to him." Tino bit his lip, looking guilty, as though he had let something slip. Berwald suddenly found he couldn't care less about Denmark. He was only interested in Tino.

"D'you like the Russians?"

"Yeah, of course. My best friend Eduard lives next door. Of course, he's not Russian. Actually, he's Estonian. His half brothers live there too… Raivis and Toris." Tino started counting off on his fingers. "Then there's Yekaterina and Natalia… and Feliks… and then of course…"

"Ivan Br'ginski." Berwald interrupted before he could stop himself.

Tino looked up at Berwald, surprised. "Yeah. Do you know him?"

Berwald froze. How the hell could he possibly explain it... "Sort of."

"How? I mean... if you don't mind me asking."

"He's…" Berwald had no idea how to describe it… "…an old aquaint'nce." It was strange. Ivan belonged to a completely different world. The world of dingy pubs and dark back rooms and shady deals. The world Berwald was used to until a few days ago. Just what was he doing living next door in a street like this? It didn't make any sense.

Tino nodded. A sudden loud crash from the living room broke the silence. It sounded like Denmark must have fallen off the couch. The crash was followed by raucous laughter and what sounded like Faeroe frantically shouting for everyone to shut up so he could hear the TV. Berwald sighed and stared at the floor. "M'not used to… so many people."

Tino clutched onto the doorframe. He looked like he wanted to flee the room but was at the same time reluctant to leave. "So why did you move in here?"

"Had to."

Tino just looked at Berwald inquisitively

"Play poker. Bet too much – everyth'ng."

"Oh. Why did you do that?"

Why did he do that? "Not sure. 't's what I've always done."

"Seems a little silly." Tino's violet eyes went wide before he closed them. "Sorry," he whispered.

"No, yer right." Why did he bet everything? Was it because he really didn't care that much if he lost? He'd never had anything important enough to worry about losing before. "Don't play anymore though." Berwald was not even sure if that was true yet, though he hoped it was.

Tino nodded and backed up slowly. "Well, that's good. I mean, gambling should be done responsibly, you know what they say, not that I'm saying you gamble irresponsibly… except that you did lose everything, so that is kind of irresponsible, and well… um… I guess I'll let you go then."

Berwald nodded. Of course… he was making Tino uncomfortable again. For the first time in his life, Berwald wished he knew how to be friendly with people. Also for the first time in his life he wondered if he had said too much. He tried not to stare as Tino rushed from the room.

Later that night, after taking hours to fall asleep worrying once again, Berwald was abruptly awoken by deafening yells.

"YES YES YES! OH GOD YES!"

Berwald jumped out of bed and ran into the next room before he was fully awake. Tino gave a tiny yelp and quickly drew himself into the corner of the bed. Berwald came into full awareness and immediately backed up. He looked down and thankfully found himself sufficiently dressed. "S'rry. Um. Heard yelling." In Berwald's experience, being woken by shouting usually preceded some unpleasantness that required him to be awake, alert and threatening.

Tino replied in a small voice. "Yeah, ah... it's Thursday... they should be done in ten minutes."

"FUCK ME YOU BASTARD!"

Berwald froze, went rigid, and felt an embarrassed flush run through him. Ohhh. It seemed Denmark and Norway's relationship was even more complicated than it first appeared. "Oh. S'rry. I'll just... I'll... go back to bed."

"OH FUCK YES I HATE YOU SO FREAKING MUCH!"

Berwald turned and slinked back to bed, mortified. This was one seriously messed up household.

"NORWAY SHUT THE HELL UP SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO WORK!" Berwald recognised Iceland yelling.

"Sorry, Berwald," said Tino softly. Tino was so sweet… so innocent. How did he live around all this? As corny as it was, and even though he was unable to do so, Berwald couldn't help thinking that he wanted to save him.

"Not yer fault."

"NORWAY IS CURRENTLY OCCUPIED BY DANISH FORCES!" Denmark's voice was unmistakable.

"Um. Goodnight," said Tino, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

"I'M INVADING OSLO! I'M INVADING OSLO!"

"G'night, Tino." Berwald closed his eyes and wondered if he would ever get any sleep in this house.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	5. Penny Ante

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_PENNY ANTE: A frivolous, low stakes game._

* * *

Berwald was quickly coming to the realisation that he would have to get used to sleepless nights. After spending ten minutes locating his glasses, which he had knocked to the floor in surprise the night before, he pulled on a shirt and jeans, fastened his pocket watch, and managed to drag himself out of his alcove. His stomach fell slightly at seeing Tino's room empty… he hoped he hadn't left for school already. Seeing Tino in the morning and the evening were already the best moments of Berwald's day, even though he still felt rather uncomfortable taking up a corner of Tino's bedroom.

As he walked down the hallway Berwald noticed a previously closed door left open. It led into a large bedroom which was completely empty except for a twister mat in the middle of the floor. He took a very deep breath, forced himself to keep walking, and tried not to angrily kick the wall.

Berwald made his way down the stairs and out onto the front lawn, picking up a few stray empty bottles as he made his way to the mailbox. The sun already blazed brightly and, combined with the clear sky, promised a hot day ahead. Berwald deposited the bottles into the garbage bin on the curb, retrieved the mail from the box, and was just flicking through it when someone practically jumped in front of him. Berwald looked up and blinked as though he was being blinded.

"Good morning!"

"Uh… morn'n."

He was short. He had light brown hair with one untamed curl flying free. He was smiling cheerfully. He had no pants on. "Did you really move in with Denmark? Wooooow. That's crazy, really. You're completely crazy. Welcome to the neighbourhood!"

"Uh…"

"I mean really, I thought I knew crazy, but choosing to live with him is a whole new level of crazy, you know? Wow. I mean really. Crazy."

"Uh…"

"So what's your name, crazy man?"

Berwald couldn't hold it in. "Y'have no pants on," he blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Pants. Yer… not wear'n any."

The brunet looked down at himself. "Oh, again. I always forget to put them back on after sleeping or showering or having sex."

"Uh… right." Why did every person Berwald meet here throw him off guard? And it wasn't just the house, now. It was the entire street.

"So? Your name?" asked the pantless brunet.

"B'rwald."

"Hello Beryl, it's nice to meet you."

"B'rwald," Berwald repeated.

"I heard you the first time. I'm…"

"Feliciano!" A tall, muscular blond man came running across the street with a frown on his face and a sheet in his hand. When he reached Feliciano he threw the sheet around him and tied it forcefully at his waist. "_Mein Gott_, you stupid Italian, check the list I put on the door for you before you go outside. Item three, pants!" The man glared at Berwald. Berwald glared back. "Who are you?"

"Ludwig, this is Beryl, he's moved in with Denmark," said Feliciano cheerfully.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "Really? Huh. Good luck with that. Come on, Feliciano, you cannot just stand in the street naked. You're turning into Francis."

"Bye Beryl!" Feliciano waved as Ludwig pulled him insistently across the street.

"'t's B'rwald," said Berwald again, though he didn't think either of them heard him. He cleared his throat and looked at his feet, uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed, even though he was now alone. He found his first suspicions of this street fast becoming confirmed. It was not his sort of place. Berwald quickly headed back into the house and threw the mail down on the side table beside the sleeping Greenland and Faeroe. It contained nothing much of interest except for a few white envelopes with the word OVERDUE stamped across them in big red letters. Berwald entered the kitchen and was immediately hit by an attack of nerves when he found Tino standing at the bench, yawning and stirring a strong smelling mug of coffee. Berwald's heart did that little jump he was becoming so used to. When Tino noticed him he started to take a step back but stopped himself at the last moment. Instead, he smiled timidly and held the mug out to Berwald.

"Black, no sugar? Is that all right? That's how I made it last time, and you liked it, so…"

Berwald didn't mention that he would have liked it made of mud if Tino had handed it to him. He just took the mug gratefully. "Th'nks."

"You're welcome." Tino reached for another cup and Berwald tried not to make it obvious that he couldn't tear his eyes away, transfixed by every simple movement. Tino emptying a spoonful of coffee into the mug… filling it with boiling water from the jug… brushing the hair from his eyes which seemed even brighter than usual in the light that flooded through the open window. As always Tino appeared nervous but friendly, casual but elegant, and above all absolutely perfect. Berwald ran a hand through his hair, mentally told himself to get it the hell together, and forced his eyes to focus on the bench. "I think I'm going to need a lot of this today," laughed Tino, replacing the coffee tin on the shelf. "Did you get any sleep?"

In truth, not much. Between Denmark and Norway's deafening and blush inducing vocalisations, and the subsequent screaming fight that had broken out between Norway and Iceland, he'd barely managed to get any. "Little bit," he said. "You?" Tino did not have a chance to answer before Denmark bounced into the room cheerfully, an overstuffed backpack thrown over his shoulder with a thick black book poking prominently out the top. He was followed by Norway who yawned loudly, looking like he'd had as little sleep as Berwald. He headed straight for the fridge, ignoring Tino's wave of greeting. Denmark however smiled almost manically.

"Good morning fellow Scandinavians! Isn't it a beautiful morning? I am so very cheerful and optimistic about the glorious day ahead! Do tell me how you are this very fine Friday morn!"

"I'm tired because you kept me awake all night having incredibly loud sex with Norway," said Tino calmly. Berwald nearly choked on his coffee. "I was slightly surprised, I must say, because normally on Thursdays you're done in like, fifteen minutes."

"What can I say, Norge can't get enough of me. Isn't that right, baby?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Tino," said Norway as he reached into the fridge and pulled out an egg. "As if I'd ever let that bastard touch me."

Denmark stared at the egg in Norway's hand. "Rule number nine, Norway. Does Mr Egg have a smiley face?"

"Rule number twenty two, Denmark. Norway is exempt from all of your stupid rules," Norway replied before turning on the frying pan and cracking the egg into it.

"Rule number twenty two is still pending examination and approval!"

"Okay, then how about rule number twenty three. Norway does not give a shit." Norway leaned on the bench and looked out the window into the backyard. "And by the way, you need to mow the back lawn."

Denmark groaned. "But I don't wanna."

"I don't care. Do it."

"No."

Norway turned slowly, tilted his head, and raised one eyebrow. "Do it or else." His words were like ice.

"Or else what? You'll give me a spanking?" Denmark flashed a toothy grin and Tino made a small noise of disgust.

"You wish, you freak. Do it or I'll…" Norway's eyes fell on the book poking out of Denmark's bag and he made a sudden grab for it. Denmark quickly dodged but it was too late. Norway triumphantly held the book above his head. Berwald could just make out the title on the black cover… _'Breaking Dawn_', was it? He'd never heard of it.

"Don't even think about it," growled Denmark, his voice low and threatening.

"Do it, or so help me, I will ruin the ending of this piece of trash."

Denmark dived for the book but Norway easily sidestepped out of the way. "Don't insult my story! It's beautiful, and shiny, and so romantic, and…"

"I've read things on toilet walls with more literary merit," said Norway disdainfully. Denmark gasped, his hand flying to his chest as though he'd been wounded. "Now," continued Norway, "if you don't promise me you'll mow that lawn I am going to tell you exactly what happens to Ella Goose and Edwin Cutter in minute detail!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

Norway opened the book and cleared his throat. "The whiny irritating little girl and the sparkly vampire get married."

"Haha, I've already read that bit."

Norway skipped forward a few pages, taking a smooth step out of the way when Denmark tried to rush at him. "And then they have… sex, I believe… of some description. Urgh."

Denmark gasped in horror and froze in mid charge. "Before she becomes a vampire?" After a moment he broke out of his stupor and tried unsuccessfully, once again, to grasp the book from Norway's hands. "No! Don't tell me! Give me back my story!"

Norway again skimmed forward through the book. "And now she's…" He paused and his forehead wrinkled slightly. "Oh God that's the most disgusting thing I've ever read."

Denmark pressed his hands against his ears. "Don't tell me! I'll do it! I'll mow the lawn! Just don't ruin my glittering beautiful young adult vampire romance novel for me!"

Norway's expression remained unchanged but for the subtle triumph in his eyes. He tossed the book at Denmark, who caught it frantically and clutched it to his chest like something precious and fragile. Norway went back to the frying pan, flipped the egg out onto a plate, and carried it from the room. "The lawn, Denmark. By this afternoon. Otherwise you'd better finish that book pretty damn fast."

Denmark stroked the book gently. "It's all right, my precious, I won't let him near you ever again."

Berwald looked sideways at Tino, who just shrugged as he stirred his coffee nonchalantly. When Berwald looked back at Denmark he found him staring back intently. "What?"

"Sweden. There has been a slight reallocation of duties. Due to your professional capabilities the backyard is now your responsibility. Any objections?"

"Uh…" Berwald looked apprehensively out the window. He hadn't paid much attention to the backyard since he had arrived. Now that he did he saw that it was an overrun mess, the grass nearly waist high, the small garden areas around the edges of the fence wild and overgrown. It looked like no one had set foot in it for years.

"I know, I know, it's a bit of a mess. Fin tried to start what he claimed was a garden, but apparently no one ever told him that plants need water."

"I always wanted a garden," said Tino absently. "With herbs and flowers. And a swing." He looked dreamily out the window as he spoke. He seemed to have forgotten that he was still stirring coffee. He seemed to have forgotten where he was. Once again, Berwald could not tear his eyes away. Tino wanted a garden. By God, Tino was going to get a garden.

"Sweden!" barked Denmark loudly. "Rule number eleven, Sweden!"

Berwald blinked and hastily looked away. "Uh, yeah, sure. No pr'blem."

"Great, hop to it, Groundskeeper Willy. That lawn needs to be done by this afternoon. Now if you will excuse me, I have… important study… to do." Denmark slowly left the room, caressing the book and muttering something which sounded suspiciously like "_Wish Norway was a vampire..."_

Berwald's eyes immediately gravitated back to Tino, who still gazed obliviously out the window. "It's not that I forgot to water them, I just kept hoping for rain, and drowning would be so awful. And I could not decide whether I wanted flowers or herbs, so I planted them both, but the basil did not get along with the lilies. Then when the roses withered the daisies died of grief. Maybe it was all for the best." Tino was still stirring his coffee.

"Um... 'kay." Slightly strange. Berwald tried to form a response. "Yer the first Finn I've met that talks more than me."

Tino looked puzzled for a moment before turning and noticing Berwald as though for the first time. Then his eyes lit in understanding and he laughed softly. "You mean at all."

"'xactly."

Tino laughed again. "My dad always said…" then he suddenly broke off and quickly looked back out the window.

"Why don't ye live with yer p'rents?" The second he said it, Berwald could have kicked himself. Why on earth had he asked that at a time like this, a few days after they had first met, on a sunny morning in the kitchen? Then he wondered if there was ever a good time to ask something like that.

Tino just shrugged. "They kicked me out. And told me never to come home again."

"Oh." It felt strange… to feel suddenly so angry at people he had never met. "Why?"

"They walked in on me kissing my best friend…" Tino took a deep breath, "…Eduard." His eyes flicked over towards Berwald, as though gauging his reaction.

"Oh." Ohhhh… _Oh_. "Oh," Berwald repeated. A hundred thoughts and feelings attacked him at once. "S'rry."

Tino waved a hand flippantly. "It's okay. Really, it is. I'm lucky Ice got me this place to live. And remember I told you, Eduard lives next door, so I have lots of friends around."

Berwald nodded, still trying to digest the knockout information he'd just been given. Tino had been kicked out of home for kissing a boy. A boy who was his best friend. A boy who, apparently, lived right next door.

"Sorry I'm late, Tino." A young blond in glasses walked into the kitchen, a backpack on his shoulder and a small laptop case in his hands. "We'd better hurry up if we're wow, he really is scary, isn't he?" The blond stopped short when he noticed Berwald.

"Eduard!" said Tino in a dismayed tone.

A boy who was standing in the kitchen before him. Berwald's hands clenched and he could almost feel his eyes flash. Eduard took an immediate step backward.

"Okay, I, am, uh, hi. Nice to meet you. And I'm backing up now." Eduard glanced across at Tino and whispered loudly through the side of his mouth, "Seriously, come _on_ Tino…"

Tino put down his coffee, picked up his bag from the bench and smiled timidly at Berwald. "Bye, Berwald."

"Bye, Tino," Berwald replied, not taking his eyes from Eduard as he backed out of the room nervously. He could hear their conversation drifting back as they left the house.

"He's the guy who's moved in with you? He's terrifying!"

"Stop it, I don't think he means it. He's actually really nice."

Watching them go, Berwald wondered in resentment exactly what sort of relationship Tino and Eduard actually had. They were the same age, they were best friends, they obviously had far more in common that Berwald and Tino ever would. And yet if they were together, that was their business. What right did Berwald have to feel angry or upset about it? It wasn't like he had a shot in hell with Tino, anyway. It seemed all he was doing was torturing himself. Berwald sighed, cleaned up the coffee cups and Norway's mess, then headed to get ready for work. He was already late as it was.

.

After another day spent thinking too much about Tino, trying to avoid Denmark, and worrying himself sick about his financial situation, Berwald walked home from work to find the entrance to the street blocked by several cars. He closed his eyes briefly and hoped it was nothing to do with Denmark, while at some level already knowing it must be. He was at least grateful that he was able to simply walk past the blockade. He'd decided the university was so close it wasn't worth driving… besides the fact that gas cost money, of which he had precious little at the moment. A loud cheer suddenly erupted from further down the street. Wondering what could possibly be going on, and resigning himself to the worst, Berwald made his way past the parked cars and headed towards the house. As he approached, it became clear that almost the entire population of the street had turned out and stood in groups, staring and cheering at some commotion occurring in the middle of the road just outside Berwald's house. He shook his head in confusion. Just what was with this place? Did these people not have work or study or anything better to do than mill around on the road acting like fools?

As he drew closer to the house, Berwald finally managed to see that the focus of the crowd's attention was simply two men standing in the center of the road. He recognised one of them as Ludwig, the stern friend of Feliciano's who he had met briefly earlier in the day. The other man was not familiar… a tall, grinning blond with glasses wearing an American flag t-shirt. Each of the men had a makeshift rope harness tied to their chest that was connected by rope to an average size sedan. Berwald's eyebrows shot up. They could not be serious… Was there a single sane person living in this street? Did all students act like this? A young man with shaggy blond hair dressed in green wandered up and down the side of the street, waving a small notebook and shouting, "Place your bets!"

Looking around at the shouting crowd, Berwald realised that he recognised a few of them. Feliciano stood with a refined looking brunet in glasses, a pretty girl with a flower in her hair, and a tall white haired man who yelled loudly in Ludwig's ear. It seemed the Italian had remembered his pants this afternoon. Berwald also noticed the two young men he had seen arguing with Denmark in the cafeteria the day before, Poland and Lithuania, standing on the lawn next door with a shorter boy and Tino's friend Eduard. Berwald had to tell himself to relax his hands when they clenched into fists. Berwald finally reached Denmark, Norway, Iceland and Tino standing on the front lawn, only metres from the Russians. Berwald walked up beside them and simply furrowed his brow. Tino smiled awkwardly but the others ignored him.

"My money's on the German," said Denmark, clutching a piece of paper and staring at the two contenders intently. "Can't lose." The crowd around them grew noisier, cheering and calling for the race to begin.

"Den, is it really a good idea for you to be betting?" asked Tino. "How much do you have on this?"

"As I said, can't lose this one. Look at the muscles on that bastard!" Denmark shouted, "Oi, Germany, you potato eating bastard! You'd better win this or I'm going Viking on your ass!"

"Screw you, Denmark," Ludwig shouted back.

"No chance, I know what you're into and even Iceland doesn't go in for shit that kinky."

"Not cheaply, anyway," said Iceland flatly.

"How did you get Ludwig to agree to this?" asked Norway in a bored tone.

Denmark laughed loudly. "Got him drunk last week and bet him he couldn't eat ten sausages in sixty seconds. He couldn't, and here we are."

"And Alfred?"

"Asked him if he wanted to tie himself to a car and race a German. And here we are."

"Den, gambling is how you got us into this mess…" Tino paused and looked up at Berwald with wide eyes, as though he had let something slip. He leant forward and whispered to Denmark urgently, "You can't lose any more money!"

Well, that was interesting. Before Berwald could think too deeply on it, the crack of a gunshot ripped through the air. He turned around in surprise to find the green clad blond holding a gun above his head. The race had begun. "Too late now!" cried Denmark cheerfully. "Move it, Germany! Kick that yank's ass!"

Berwald was actually surprised at how fast the two men managed to move as they dragged the cars behind them. They were obviously both incredibly strong. The crowd went wild, whistling and shouting and waving the small pieces of paper in the air frantically. Feliciano was jumping up and down and waving a German flag. The white haired man kept pace with Ludwig, shouting at him the whole way. Loud cries of "Come on Alfred!" came from the house two doors down where three men, all of them blond and one dangerously close to being naked, cheered from the lawn. One of the men, a short guy wearing a suit and with eyebrows Berwald could make out from down the street, suddenly walked to the finish line and held something aloft. Berwald squinted to make it out. It was a hamburger. "Oh, Alfred!" the man called seductively. "If you win I'll let you eat this off my..."

"What the hell?" shouted Denmark, interrupting. "What does England think he's doing?"

The strategy seemed to work. The American, Alfred, picked up in speed and just moments before the line managed to pull in front of Ludwig. He crossed the line to deafening cheers and cheerfully grabbed the burger with one hand and England's waist with the other.

"The American wins!" shouted the blond referee. He was immediately swamped by half the crowd waving pieces of paper at him insistently.

"CHEATING!" cried Denmark. He stormed over to the finish line and shouted in the referee's ear. "What the hell was that? In what race on Earth is it acceptable to use bribery to get your guy over the line! I request, nay, I DEMAND a rematch!"

"No one said it wasn't in the rules, wanker," said England, a smug grin on his face. "Now pay up, Vash, I had a hundred quid on this." Alfred simply focused on devouring the burger.

"Oh this is bullshit!" Denmark turned to the white haired man beside Ludwig. "Prussia, back me up."

"Much as I hate to do it, I have to agree with him," said Prussia angrily. "Seriously, Vash, we were not informed we were able to use these tactics or else we would have had Feliciano standing naked at the finish line waving a wurst in the air."

Denmark waved his hand. "You see? Switzerland, I demand my money back, this was rigged!"

Switzerland didn't look up as he took the papers from those crowding around him and checked them against his notebook. "It wasn't rigged, Denmark, your guy lost. Deal with it."

Denmark crumpled his paper and threw it to the ground. "This is not over. Oh, this is NOT over!"

Switzerland turned his back on Denmark as he distributed the winnings among the crowd. "Denmark. Take a deep breath, and ask yourself this question. Which one of us is currently in possession of a gun?"

Denmark halted for a moment then stomped on the ground and marched back over to the others, leaving Prussia to take over shouting at Switzerland. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

Tino sighed deeply and ran his hand over his forehead. "I told you, Den."

"Great," said Norway flatly. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any stupider. How much have you lost us now?"

"Come on, that was a sure thing, how the hell did that bastard lose? Hey Germany, you owe me now. Are you listening? You owe me! And don't think you can get away without paying the way you did after 1945!" Ludwig started to shout an angry response but Denmark turned his back and ignored him. "Okay, okay, it's all good, I have an idea. Rematch. Can't use the kraut though. Now let's see…" He paused, turned slowly to Berwald and looked him up and down, a look of dawning excitement on his face. Berwald shook his head firmly.

"No."

Denmark whined. "Come on, Sweden, you're as big as that German bastard, you can beat that skinny yank!"

"No." Berwald looked away and noticed with a cold shock that Ivan had appeared next to Eduard and the others on the next door lawn. He narrowed his eyes and watched as Ivan put an arm around Lithuania and looked over, smiling smugly at… Iceland? The entire atmosphere shifted as his housemates followed his gaze and noticed the Russian watching them. But the most interesting reaction came from Iceland. Berwald watched with concerned interest as a look of pain, sadness, and almost fear passed across Iceland's face. He took a step back and Norway stepped forward to stand between his brother and Ivan. Norway elbowed Denmark, who looked from Berwald to Ivan to Iceland and then back at the Russian with an almost murderous glare. It all happened so quickly, but Berwald observed all of it, and the sudden tension was palpable.

"Come on," said Norway quietly. He headed towards the house, his arm reaching for Iceland, and Tino and Denmark moved to follow him. Berwald shrugged, confused, and trailed behind. He stopped abruptly and scowled furiously when he felt his arm grasped. He turned to find Ivan smiling cheerfully, dangerously at him.

"I know your type, Berwald. I know you."

Berwald stood still and silently panicked. Not here. Not in front of Tino. He wrenched his arm angrily out of Ivan's grip. "What r'ye talkin' 'bout." Beside him the others stopped and watched fixedly. Berwald silently prayed they would leave.

"Him?" Ivan nodded at Denmark. "Silly boy who does not know what he is doing." Denmark opened his mouth angrily but Norway silenced him with a look. "You, Berwald. Well. You are a professional, da? As much as you try to hide it with your nice, normal, respectable job as a… gardener." Ivan snorted with laughter. Berwald felt the beginnings of anger in the burning of his neck, the involuntary clenching of his fists.

"And what r'ye doing?" Berwald leant forward and hissed, hoping he couldn't be heard by those behind him. Both his and Ivan's housemates were far too close. "Livin' in this street, pretendin' yer normal…"

"We both live in two worlds, Berwald. The difference is, I can handle it. You…" Ivan laughed again. "You think you can stay away? You think you can make a clean, honest start? You will be back, Berwald. I know your type. You always come back."

"Ye know noth'n."

"I know you want him." It was like a punch to the gut. Ivan smiled at Tino, whose face was unreadable as he stared back. Beside him Iceland shifted nervously. Berwald's anger rose even higher, heat infusing his cheeks. "Do you think he would look at you twice if he knew who you were?" asked Ivan, his eyes cold, hard and crinkled in amusement.

"Back off, Br'ginski," said Berwald, low and barely controlled. His heart was in his throat, and his veins boiled with rage.

"Criminal," whispered Ivan, close and hot against Berwald's ear. Berwald's silent panic thrummed through him and he hoped desperately that Tino could not hear. "You think he'd blink at you with those big eyes? Smile with those pretty lips?" Berwald was beyond angry. A vein throbbed dangerously in his temple. Ivan was going too far… pushing him… "You think he'd open those legs for you?"

Something snapped. Berwald practically snarled, clenched his hand into a fist and pulled his arm back. He immediately felt it grasped by a strong hand. He snapped his head around to see Norway gripping his arm and staring at him with a warning in his serious eyes. Berwald slowly noticed that the entire assembled crowd was staring at him. The entire street had gone silent. He quickly dropped his arm and took a step backwards, fury still coursing through his veins.

Ivan laughed, then smiled brightly at Norway. "Angry one you've got here. I'd be careful. I don't think even little Ice could handle this one." Ivan winked at Iceland, who glared back for a moment before turning and running into the house. Tino followed him. Denmark started to yell something, preparing to get into another rant, but Norway silenced him once again with a simple look. Then he glared at Ivan.

"Ivan," said Norway, calm and cold and composed. "You look at Ice like that again - you go near him - and I will kill you. Do not think for a second that I am not serious. Come on, Sweden. Den, move it."

Berwald did not tear his gaze from Ivan's smiling face as he let Norway pull him into the house. His anger refused to subside. Why the hell was Ivan living in this street? Why did those kids live with him? What was going on between him and Iceland, and why did Denmark obviously hate him so much? One thing was certain. Ivan did not belong here. But a small voice in Berwald's head whispered naggingly. _Neither do you._

Berwald had taken the job at the university because it was normal. It didn't pay much, but he didn't do it for the money. It was the opposite of everything he was used to, everything he had been involved in for too long. It was a new start, a fresh beginning, a way to put the past behind him. But Ivan was right... he hadn't been able to stay away from that life before, how was he supposed to now? He could try and run from it, but he would always be a criminal. Ivan was right. If Tino knew who he was, he'd want nothing to do with him. He should be with someone nice and normal like that Eduard kid.

Once inside the house, Norway and Denmark immediately disappeared. Tino and Iceland were nowhere to be seen. Berwald was left standing alone in the living room, slightly disoriented and still angry. Greenland looked up from the couch and blinked at him a few times. "Ah. Sweden, right?"

"B'rwald."

"Right, right. Drama on the front lawn?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Oh, the never ending Ivan saga," sighed Faeroe, stretching and sending a few empty cans flying to the floor. "This is the only reason I hang around here… better than any soap opera, I tell you what."

"What, um… what happened b'tween Ivan 'nd Iceland?"

Greenland and Faeroe paused, looked at each other, then looked up at Berwald. "Really not our place to say," said Faeroe.

"Yeah. We just live here," added Greenland.

"You seem sort of angry about something. Everything all right?" asked Faeroe, tilting his head.

"Just, uh... yeah. 't's noth'n."

"Just remember, my friend," said Greendland, "'Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned*.'"

"Yes," said Faeroe, "For 'we are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves*.'"

Berwald furrowed his brow, stared at the wall, then nodded tersely. Just when he thought things could not get stranger, the guys on the couch start quoting Buddha at him. "'kay. Th'nks." He sighed, walked past the couch, and headed to his alcove. It was small, it was cramped, it was blocked off from the rest of the house by a curtain. But damn it, it was his, and it was a place where he could avoid everyone. He fell down onto his bed, placed his glasses on the side table, and pressed his palms into his tired eyes. Berwald still could not shake the feeling that Ivan was right about everything. Berwald knew he did not belong here. He knew he never should have moved in. And yet, from the second he had laid eyes on Tino, he'd known that he never had a choice.

"Berwald?"

Berwald's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Tino's voice. He shook himself out of his half sleep, unsure how long he had been lying drifting between sleep and consciousness. The sky outside his window was dark. He immediately stood, put on his glasses, and parted the curtain to Tino's side of the room. A few lamps lit the room dimly and Tino stood at the window, one of those old fashioned pull down contraptions with a latch at the top. He bashed it a few times with his hand then looked over at Berwald and smiled apologetically. "Um, the window's caught. Can you help me pull it free?"

Berwald just stood still for a few moments and his heart immediately took off racing. "Sure." Berwald forced himself to move, grasped the sliding section of the window, and pulled it forcefully. It did not budge. Tino laughed softly.

"Um, you need to hold here..." Tino touched the top frame of the window… "And hold it steady while I pull this part down."

"'kay."

Berwald reached over and held the frame steady. Tino stood directly in front of him and Berwald could not control his breath, his pulse, his thoughts. Oh God, Tino was so close Berwald could smell his hair, could feel the heat from his body, was only inches from touching him. It was making his head spin and his mouth dry. He had never been affected by anyone like this before. This was completely new and unexpected and terrifying at the same time. Tino pulled on the sliding window and suddenly it flew down, slammed, and Berwald nearly lost his balance before steadying himself at the last second. Tino laughed again.

"This old house is falling apart!" Berwald didn't know how to respond so he didn't. He just looked out at the moonlit backyard over Tino's shoulder. And realised he had forgotten to mow it. Tino seemed to realise at the same time. "You didn't mow the lawn."

"No. S'rry."

"Don't apologise to me, apologise to Den when Norway finds out. He shouldn't make you do the yard anyway."

"I don't mind. M'gonna make you a garden." The words came out before Berwald could stop them and he swore inwardly. Oh shit, had he really just said that?

Tino paused then turned slowly and looked up, his face unreadable. Berwald realised just how close they still were. "You're... going to make me a garden?" Tino looked surprised, confused, and slightly flattered all at once.

Berwald blinked rapidly. Oh shit, oh shit, how had he let that slip out… "Uh. Yeah."

Tino's cheeks turned pink as an adorable blush spread across his face. "Why?"

"Coz... coz ye want one." Tino stared at him. Berwald stared back. He felt like he was falling… falling into violet eyes. Tino was still so close. Suddenly, a devastated scream echoed down the hall, followed by a cry of "She has a WHAT?" Berwald nearly jumped, and forced himself to step back.

Tino laughed and looked away, moving back and clutching the bottom of the window frame behind him. "Looks like Norway just ruined the ending of Den's book."

"Oh. I didn't mean t'…"

"Den deserves it," said Tino, his lips twisting in a smirk as he looked up at Berwald through his fringe.

Berwald nodded. He couldn't help but agree. "What was he readin' anyway?"

"You haven't heard of 'Twilight' either?"

"No."

"Oh, good, I thought I was the only one. Books like that are all Raivis and Feliks talk about. Eduard says it's rubbish." Berwald felt his fingers twitch involuntarily at the mention of Eduard's name. Another silence. Tino took a shaking breath and looked down at his hands. "You know how this morning, when we were talking in the kitchen, and I told you about how my parents walked in on me kissing Eduard?"

"Yes." How could he possibly forget?

"I… I just want you to know… um, I mean, I'm not… we're not together or anything. He's not my boyfriend or anything, we're just friends." Tino's cheeks turned an even darker shade of red. "I just wanted to know what it was like… kissing, that is, and…" Tino's eyes went wide and he suddenly seemed to panic. "…and I know you don't care at all and I'm sorry I said anything, please forget I said anything, that was really stupid…"

"No," said Berwald. Tino froze. Sure, it was strange, but… "Noth'n ye say could ever be stupid."

Tino's brows furrowed, he bit his lip, and he looked up at Berwald with his head slightly tilted. "You're not really that scary, are you?"

"I hope not. I don't try to be." Well, not to Tino, at least…

"I'm sorry. I must seem so rude to you."

"'s'alright. I know how people see me."

Tino looked at the floor. "That's unfair though, isn't it? For people to just look at you and think that you must be a certain way. I never thought I would be like that. Not when I know people do the same thing to me."

"Yer not like that. I think ye see through that."

Tino smiled and it lit up his face. Berwald's heart beat even faster. "Something happened between you and Ivan too, didn't it?" Tino immediately closed his eyes and furrowed his face like he instantly regretted his words. "I'm sorry, I am, I…"

"'s'all right."

"It's just, when I saw the way you were talking with him… and I remember you said that you know him… Ivan seems to have that effect on a lot of people. Making them angry, I mean." Berwald remembered the way Ivan had looked at Iceland, and Tino's words about Ivan and Denmark… _'well, there's a bit of history there…' _

"'t's really noth'n to worry 'bout. Is… is Icel'nd okay?"

Tino didn't reply for a moment. "He's all right. He's tough. Not as tough as he thinks, but still tough. Ivan and him…" Tino stopped. "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't…"

"O'course," Berwald said quickly. Another silence fell. Outside the window, a drifting cloud obscured the moon and the room darkened slightly, even with the light of the lamps inside. Tino bit his lip and brushed his hair from his forehead, familiar gestures that made Berwald's stomach flip.

"Thank you for helping me with the window."

"Yer welcome."

"And Berwald, if you find this all too much and choose to move out – I understand. And I'm really glad to have met you. But I... I hope you don't." Tino kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor.

Berwald tried to respond but his throat was completely dry as he gazed at Tino. He physically ached to reach out and touch him. He eventually coughed, swallowed and managed to respond. "'m not goin' anywhere."

Tino smiled again but he didn't look convinced. "It must be getting late." Berwald's breath caught when Tino unexpectedly reached his hand out and smoothly took the pocket watch from where it rested against Berwald's front shirt pocket. At the feather touch of Tino's hand against his chest Berwald got the feeling his thumping heart could not take much more. Tino glanced down the watch. "Nearly ten. I really should be getting to bed." He smiled up at Berwald and handed him back the watch. When their hands touched Berwald felt as though a jolt of electricity shocked through him. "That really is a beautiful watch. Where did you get it?"

Berwald had to force himself to speak once again. "'t was m'fathers. 'twas handed down from his grandfather."

"Wow, that's a wonderful tradition!" Tino looked genuinely interested. "Are you close to your dad?"

Berwald paused only for a moment. "I was. He's dead now."

Tino looked mortified. "Oh, I'm so sorry. That was stupid of me, I shouldn't have assumed…"

Berwald almost smiled at the way Tino kept apologising. "'s okay."

"No, it's not. I always say the wrong thing, don't I? I just, I mean… I'm sorry about your dad."

"Th'nks." For a moment they just looked at each other. Tino almost looked for a moment as though he was going to say something else. But he just blinked, averted his eyes, and turned away.

"Goodnight."

Berwald told himself to move, choked out a 'G'night," and disappeared behind his curtain. He took a deep, shaking breath. Berwald didn't care that Denmark was criminally insane. He didn't care that Norway seemed almost as bad. He didn't care that he could not figure out the mystery of Ivan and Iceland. He didn't care about the Buddhist druggies on the couch. All Berwald cared about now was Tino. Tino who was beautiful, perfect, and made it all worth it. Tino, strange, awkward, breathtaking Tino, who he was deeply, inevitably, desperately in love with.

* * *

_To be continued…_

* * *

_* Quotes from the Buddha, Siddhārtha Gautama._


	6. Up the Ante

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_UP THE ANTE: To increase the stakes in a game._

* * *

"You're _what_?"

Denmark stared at Berwald incredulously, his brow furrowed in outrage, his hands on his hips, attempting to stand imposingly over him. Berwald just stared down evenly, his impassive expression the result of years of poker table training. He had decided that, if he was staying in this house, he could not stay in the same room as Tino. It was far too distracting. "Movin' rooms," he said calmly. "There's one empty upstairs. I'm takin' it."

Denmark took a step closer until he stood mere inches from Berwald. "No, you're not."

"Yes. I am."

The room thrummed with the silence and tension of those watching. Greenland reached for a handful of Faeroe's popcorn. Tino stood biting his nails in the kitchen doorway while Iceland leaned on the wall next to him, his arms folded and his face blank. Even Norway watched from where he sat at the table studying. No one said a word.

"That room is not empty," said Denmark coolly_. _"It is the twister room." Berwald had to give him credit. Most men had trouble meeting his eyes when this close; Denmark did not flinch.

"Ye haven't used it s'nce I moved in. Have you?"

"No, but that's not the point. The point is..." Denmark paused, not taking his eyes from Berwald's. They flashed as he seemed to search for a point. "The point is, you can't have it."

Berwald smiled ever so slightly and slowly held up his trump card. A printed copy of Denmark's rules. Denmark gasped when he noticed what it was.

"Where did you get that?"

Berwald gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "Study."

Denmark blinked his shock away. Berwald was not surprised to see that now Denmark seemed a little uncomfortable. "Well it doesn't matter anyway because there is nothing in there about..."

Berwald easily caught his bluff. "Rule number th'rty-two." He had been quite surprised by the actual length and detail of Denmark's list of rules. He was not sure what the insane Dane was actually studying at university, but he now had the slightly disturbing feeling that it might be law. Denmark snatched the list from him, perused it, and began reading aloud.

"Rule thirty-two. If a bedroom is vacant for any period of time exceeding one week, any member of the household may lay claim to it if..." His words slowed as he reached the end of the sentence.

"If no one objects," Berwald finished. Denmark stared at the paper, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then looked up again at Berwald furiously. Berwald's expression remained unchanged and he asked, "Well... any obj'ctions?"

"No," said Greenland quickly, followed by Faeroe saying "None here," through a mouthful of popcorn.

"No," said Tino. "I mean, if this is what you want, Berwald."

"No," said Iceland. "Keep going, though, this is really hot."

Denmark turned to Norway pleadingly. "Norge!"

"Oh Denmark, honestly," said Norway. "The only time you use that twister mat is when you are completely trashed and want an excuse to touch someone up."

"Like that time you groped Fin's ass and Norway wouldn't speak to you for a week," said Iceland in his usual monotone.

Denmark, Norway and Tino spoke as one. "That never happened, Ice."

"Yeah, but it totally did, and you got so jealous..."

"Denmark," barked Norway loudly, cutting Iceland off. "Let Sweden have the damn room."

Denmark took a deep, shaking breath. "I can not believe you would all betray me like this. Not that it matters in the end. You will note, Sweden, that rule thirty-two quite clearly states, 'If no one objects.'" Denmark grinned cheerfully. "I'm sorry Sweden, but _I_ object to the terms of the agreement."

Berwald had expected that. He allowed himself to smirk as he played his last card. "Rule f'rty three."

Denmark glared at him then quickly looked down at the list. "Rule forty-three. In all decisions, disregarding those expressly and explicitly stating otherwise, the majority choice rules." Denmark's smile fell, his fists clenched, and he nodded bitterly. "Well played, Sweden, well played." He crumpled the paper in his hand. "Goddamn Scandinavian democracy. I knew I should have made this a dictatorship."

.

Berwald was still not sure what to make of the street. He had encountered most of its student population the other day at that ridiculously random car dragging race, which apparently was not such an odd occurrence here after all. The inhabitants of this street would turn out in droves for any strange reason. The place was like a twenty-four hour street carnival. Denmark tended to divide the students into groups based on their nationalities and the houses they lived in. He had taken the time to explain it to Berwald one evening, accosting him into taking a seat at the dining room table and standing over him as though delivering a lecture, all while Tino mouthed apologies and the others looked on indifferently. According to Denmark their immediate neighbours consisted of The USSR, the Italo-German Alliance of Across-The-Street, the Asian Empire, and Those Guys Next Door.

The 'Russians', Berwald had decided, weren't really all that bad. Tino seemed to be good friends with most of them, and Berwald could not figure out what they were doing living with Ivan. Those Guys Next Door, as Denmark called them, were worse. Berwald had nearly been assaulted three times by the French guy simply walking to the mailbox. The British guy got incredibly drunk every second night and either ended up bashing on their windows asking if they had any booze or passing out on someone's front lawn until the American rescued him. At least it wasn't naked, though, as both Feliciano from across the road and the crazy French guy tended to be half the time.

Berwald spent the majority of his free time working on the garden. It was the one thing he could control in the insane erratic existence of this house, where day after day things seemed to stay the same and yet be completely unpredictable at the same time. Berwald had yet to see the guys on the couch actually move from it. He had answered the phone three times only to be asked breathily what he was 'into'. He'd had to climb onto the roof, in front of a crowd of cheering onlookers, in a bold rescue attempt after Denmark had consumed a bottle of tequila mixed with Tabasco sauce and come to the very firm conviction that he was a Mexican gargoyle. And he was still awoken every night by Denmark and Norway's deafening nocturnal activities, even though the next day Norway would swear up, down and sideways that he wouldn't touch Denmark with a sterilised bargepole.

But every morning when Berwald walked into the kitchen, Tino would be waiting, a cup of coffee already made. Every day when he came home Tino would be either sitting at the table in the living room, or at the kitchen bench, or would bump into him in the hallway, every day with those wide, violet eyes and that way he bit his lip shyly and that small perfect smile. Berwald was convinced he could put up with anything - with Denmark's insanity and Iceland's phone calls and Norway's nightly screaming fits - with absolutely anything, if he could just see that smile every day.

True, Tino was not immune from the insanity of the place. In fact he was rather strange, which somehow seemed only to make him more endearing. It was not uncommon to find him staring blankly out the window lost in thought, searching for his sunglasses when they were on his head, or attempting to make any number of strange dessert concoctions containing coffee, rhubarbs, salmiakki, or on one disastrous occasion all three ingredients at once. Berwald had already had to point out twice that Tino was leaving the house with two different shoes on. And then there were the odd things he came out with like how he had kissed his best friend for no apparent reason other than to see what it would be like. Berwald had to wonder how much truth was in that statement.

Berwald loved early mornings. The household was asleep, the street was quiet for a change, and he could work peacefully in the garden without distractions like that French guy peeking over the fence or random empty cans flying into the yard from nowhere or that really strange time that Denmark had watched from the window all afternoon and given a running commentary like he was a presenter on ESPN. Berwald was in the middle of planting a row of Lily of the Valley – the national flower of Finland – when he heard the phone ring. He ignored it. It was probably for Iceland. After the fourteenth ring, he realised no one was going to answer it. He quickly tore off his gloves, raced in the back door, and answered the phone in the kitchen. "H'llo?"

"Oh, hi," said a pleasant sounding male voice. "Could I speak to Ice, please?"

"'e's not h're."

"I'm sorry?"

Berwald sighed. "Not h're," he repeated loudly.

"Oh, okay. Look, maybe you can help me out. Ice usually does it but I'm sure you can do it just as well."

Berwald's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the phone. "Um… no… can't help with that s'rt of thing," he said, alarmed.

"Oh, really? I mean, it won't take long, I'm happy to wait while you get sorted, and of course I'll pay for your time."

Berwald was stunned. "Look, I'm s'rry, you've got the wrong…"

The voice sighed. "Come on buddy, it'll take you like two minutes to grab the paper, Ice gets it delivered every morning. I just need to know the result of the White Sox game."

Berwald's thoughts clicked into place. "Ohh…"

Berwald grabbed the paper he'd placed on the bench earlier, read the guy his baseball scores five times until he understood, then finally hung up the phone exhausted. He turned around to find Tino standing smiling shyly in the doorway. Berwald's tugged on his collar nervously and looked at the phone. "He wanted the baseball sc'res."

"There's a guy who calls every day at 6am for the daily horoscope. Ice just makes it up."

Berwald furrowed his brows. Now he was really confused. "What s'rt of phone service does he run?"

"That is kind of hard to say. People call him for anything from sports scores and horoscopes to hacking information to..." Tino blushed deeply. "Well, um, you know. As long as they deposit the money into his PayPal account, Ice will talk about anything. Which is kind of ironic really because normally he hardly talks at all."

"Thoght he was... Ye kn'ow. A pr'stit'te." Berwald mumbled.

Tino was usually better than most at understanding Berwald, but this time he just looked confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Prostit'te," Berwald repeated, his face burning. Tino's eyes widened in understanding and he laughed.

"Oh, God, no! Well, I can see why you'd think that… he is pretty good at getting stuff out of guys and he'll say some… uh… risqué sort of stuff on certain phone calls. But he's pretty much all talk. Literally." Tino stopped laughing and bit his lip, looking down at his hands. "It's funny. On the phone, he can talk to anyone about anything. He can say the most intimate things. He can be someone completely different, and he can be more himself than he allows anyone to ever see. But in reality…" Tino shrugged, as though at a loss for words. "He maintains this façade, you know? He doesn't let anyone in. The way you see him, I know what you'd think of him, but he's actually only ever let one guy in and we all know how that ended and oh wow, it's really none of my business to be talking about all this, did you want a coffee?"

"Th'nks," said Berwald as Tino went to turn on the jug. "I guess I just… assumed. S'rry."

Tino shook his head. "I can understand that you'd be a bit confused."

"It just… I'm s'rry. It just seems a bit, er… really odd, though."

Tino laughed softly. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, everyone here is a little odd. But mainly it's just because everyone kind of has to be, you know? It's easier to be odd or crazy or insane than to hurt all the time." That was something Berwald was quickly learning about Tino. He could be talking about something completely random and nonsensical one moment then say something the next that just made perfect sense.

"Did yer parents really kick y'out coz you kissed yer best friend?" Berwald wasn't sure where that question came from. He just knew that he really needed to know.

Tino stared at the coffee mugs as he placed them before him. "Yes."

"And ye kissed him coz…"

Tino looked up at Berwald and smiled slowly, awkwardly. "I wanted to see what they would do. I guess I wanted to know straight up how they would react. They kicked me out, and I got my answer."

Berwald nodded. "That makes more sense."

Tino looked away, his face flushed, and focused on preparing the coffee. "I told you we were all a little odd."

Berwald could not imagine anyone in the world more perfect than Tino, odd or not. "'ts not always a bad thing."

Tino blushed deeper. "So, uh, what will you be doing today?" he asked quickly.

Berwald shrugged. "Workin' in the garden."

"You don't have to worry about escaping Denmark. On Sundays he doesn't get up until evening."

"'t's not it. Like bein' in the garden."

Tino smiled. "You're sort of sweet, really, aren't you?" He immediately looked dismayed and took a step backward. "Um, I mean, oh gosh, I really didn't… I'm sorry."

"Why?" asked Berwald. That just seemed to make Tino more flustered.

"I have to…" Tino paused. Berwald waited. "…go," he finished finally before rushing from the room. Berwald watched him go in confusion. Just when he thought Tino was getting used to him. He sighed to himself and finished making the coffee. Tino would probably never get used to him – no one ever did.

.

The next afternoon things came to a crisis. As Berwald went to place his money in the rent jar, the same as he had done last Monday in accordance with House Rule Number One, he found that the jar was nowhere to be seen. Just as he was checking in the cupboards to see if someone had put it away somewhere, a knock came at the door. Berwald went and answered it warily.

"Good afternoon!" The man at the door stood at an equal height to Berwald and had a fake smile plastered on his face. His huge arms bulged against the fabric of a cheap black suit and his stare was an obvious attempt at intimidation. Berwald recognised the threatening stance immediately. A debt collector. "Is there a Mr Køhler I can speak to?"

"A Mr… oh." Berwald remembered the name as the one shouted in the cafeteria the other day. He stared back evenly and invoked rule number fourteen. "He's out'f the country."

"I see." The collector's smile dropped and he noticeably flexed his arms. Berwald tried not to roll his eyes. "Well then, perhaps you could be so good as to pass this on to him when he returns?" The man held out an envelope and Berwald took it. "Final notice. I do hope I will not have to visit you again. Next time, things shall not go quite so…" The man paused in what he probably thought was a dramatic manner. "…pleasantly."

"S're, yeah." Berwald closed the door before the man turned away. The collector had chosen the wrong guy if he was looking for someone to intimidate. Berwald tore open the letter, read it quickly, and clenched his hand into a fist.

"Problem?" asked Greenland from behind him.

"Where is D'nmark?" asked Berwald quietly, trying not to let his hot wave of rage overwhelm him.

"Bedroom," replied Greenland quickly. "Get the popcorn, Faeroe, this oughta be good."

"It was only a matter of time," said Faeroe. "'Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.'"

Berwald hurried up the stairs, slammed open Denmark's bedroom door, and turned on the light. Denmark squeaked and fell off the bed while Norway immediately disappeared under the covers. "Someone care to 'xplain this to me?" asked Berwald, holding up the crumpled letter.

"What? Huh? What the hell is going on? Are we under attack?"

"Whats goin' on is that I've just had an ev'ction notice handed to me by a debt c'llector!"

"What?"

"I paid ye three weeks in advance! That was th'only money I had! What th'hell did ye do with it?"

Denmark pulled himself to his feet, brushed himself down, and turned to face Berwald with an attempt at looking dignified. With his Danish flag boxers, flattened hair, and sheet around his ankles, he did not manage to pull it off. "You sound as though you have some concerns, Sweden. Would you like to schedule a house meeting?"

"Yes," growled Berwald. "Now."

.

Denmark sat at the head of the table, looking for all the world like a supreme court judge who had been called in to a crucial case after an all night bender. He even had a gavel, which he was currently utilising to its full potential. "House meeting!" he shouted. "Come to order! House…"

"Yes, Denmark, for fuck's sake, you've shouted that six times already," growled Norway, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the table looking bored. "We're all here. Get on with it."

Berwald, Tino and Iceland all sat around the table, varying degrees of apprehension on their faces. Even Greenland and Faeroe's couch had been turned around to face the table, though Berwald had the feeling they would not be contributing much to the conversation.

"So," began Denmark gravely. "We are all quite aware of the problem with the rent."

Berwald was not aware. "Pr'blem?"

"Can't understand you, Sweden. That's why we roped someone in to try and help us get our costs back up."

"Roped? Costs? What r'ye talkin' bout?"

"Seriously, Sweden, speak up, I can't understand a word you're saying. Now we all know everything has been going well, we've been paying back our debt slowly..."

"Your debt," said Iceland.

"Let's not quibble about the particulars. However, due to unseen circumstances, we lost our last weeks rent. Three weeks. Well, you know, about a months worth."

"And by unforeseen circumstances he means he bet it all on a German tied to a car," said Norway.

"We've what? Can s'meone 'xplain?"

"Sweden, I swear, you really need to see someone about this speech impediment of yours. Now the big problem here being, of course, that we already owe about three months on top of that. You know, from the last time we lost it."

"You lost it," Iceland interrupted.

"LAST t'me?"

"So look, things happened, wheels set in motion, you know how these things work, and apparently we had a visit this afternoon from our friendly neighbourhood debt collector to inform us that we now have to pay our de..."

"_Your _de..."

"DEBT, Iceland, in one transaction. Soon. Immediately. Well, in a week. Or we'll be, you know. Evicted."

A resounding silence fell. No one responded. Eventually Norway stood, walked over to Denmark, and slapped him over the back of the head. Tino put his head in his hands. "Den. How much do we owe?"

"Well," said Denmark, rubbing his head, "Erm, by now it would be... ten grand."

Tino gasped. "Ten thousand? Ten thousand dollars? How is that even possible?"

"Ye couldn't've told us 'bout this before?" Berwald was beyond angry. This was beyond a joke. If it were not for Tino he would be desperate to move out; but now the thought of being evicted almost terrified him. He did not know where Tino might end up moving to, but the thought that he would go somewhere that Berwald would not see him every day was like a punch in the gut.

"Look, I've got us out of trouble like this before, I can do it again," said Denmark. Norway scoffed loudly.

"You're joking, right?"

"Shush. Now first things first." Denmark steepled his hands, looked up thoughtfully, and leant forward gravely. "Does anybody have any money?"

Norway glared at him. "Well I have twelve dollars fifty in my bank account, how about the rest of you?"

"I don't have much," said Tino quietly. "I should probably get a part time job. Or I could maybe try to explain to my parents that I need more money for school. I mean, they don't pay me all that much." When Berwald looked at him quizzically, Tino explained, "They give me a weekly allowance. On the proviso that I never attempt to contact them. Which probably means I can't ask for more money after all…"

"Parents are bullshit," said Denmark vehemently. The violence of his tone almost surprised Berwald. "Don't you dare ask those assholes for a single thing, Tino."

"He shouldn't have to. Ye lost the money. Ye should get it back." Berwald didn't want to make a scene, but Denmark was really starting to piss him off. It was getting to a point where he was simply not going to take it anymore. Denmark turned to him furiously, but Iceland quickly interjected.

"Well, to be fair..." Iceland trailed off.

"T'be fair?" Berwald prompted.

"To be fair," continued Tino, "We kind of all had something to do with losing the first lot of money. Not yours of course," he added quickly. "That was all Denmark."

"Huh? What did ye do? How did ye lose it?"

"Poker," said Tino quietly. Berwald's eyes widened. Poker? They could not be serious.

"Poker?"

"Russia has a poker game every month," explained Denmark.

Now Berwald was astounded. "You play'd 'gainst Ivan? 're ye completely stupid?"

There was a very long silence before Norway spoke. "Sweden, this is Denmark. Have you met?"

"I was due for a win!" moaned Denmark.

Berwald rolled his eyes and tried not to scoff. "No one wins 'gainst Ivan." Especially not an amateur like you, he added silently.

"Hold up... how do you know this?" asked Norway warily.

Berwald tried to answer carefully. "I've play'd 'gainst him, too. I lost. 't's why I had to move in here. He's the best on the circuit. He plays 'gainst players far more... 'xperienced than you. And he always wins."

Norway leant forward and fixed Berwald with a suspicious, piercing stare. "Just what is with you and Ivan? You seem to know each other."

Berwald's eyes flicked involuntarily towards Tino. "'ts nothin'. As I said, I play poker. So does he. I'm good. He's better. That's it."

Norway's eyes narrowed. "These poker games you play. They are more than just... games, aren't they? I mean, they are more than just the pathetic little diversions that Denmark involves himself with."

Berwald did not know how to answer that. "Well..."

"Ivan called you a criminal the other day. What did he mean by that, Berwald?" Norway had heard that? What the hell else had he heard? Berwald shifted uncomfortably as every set of eyes in the room stared at him.

"t'was nothin'. He just wants to make trouble for me."

"So he's playing with you." Iceland's voice was both bitter and surprisingly understanding. "I don't know what the deal is with you and Ivan, Sweden. But as far as I'm concerned any enemy of Ivan is a friend of ours."

There was a thoughtful silence before Denmark spoke. "Yes, Russia's a bastard, I think we're all aware of that by now. Unless anyone has plans to extort him, which by the way I would totally be in favour of, I hardly think he is relevant to this conversation."

For possibly the first time Berwald found himself in agreement with Denmark. "K. Le'me get this straight. Ye lost three months rent playin' poker."

Denmark nodded. "Yes."

"Now ye've lost 'nother months rent on some stupid car pullin' contest."

"How the hell did that kraut lose?" moaned Denmark.

"And now we've got a week to pay ten grand."

"Sweden, your powers of observation are outstanding," said Norway flatly.

"Don't be such a bitch, Norway," said Tino, to Berwald's surprise.

"Seems to me," said Berwald thoughtfully, "We need t'find a way t'make ten grand." Everyone fell silent.

"Norway could strip," suggested Denmark. Norway flipped him off. "Hey, baby, it was a compliment, I'd pay to see that…"

"You couldn't afford that," Norway shot back.

"Denmark could rob a bank," offered Iceland.

"No one's asking you Icelander, we all know how good your kind is with financial problems."

"Fuck you, Denmark!"

"We could kill the landlord." Everyone stared at Norway. Denmark nodded, raising a hand thoughtfully.

"So far that's actually the best idea."

"We don't even know who the landlord is," said Tino, sounding frustrated.

"There's always prostitution."

"No one's gonna pay for you, Denmark," said Iceland.

"It's only a few more steps from what you're doing, Ice. We could kick Sweden out of the twister room and set up some sort of pay by the hour boudoir…"

"I hate you so much sometimes."

"But only sometimes, right?"

"Just stop it!" cried Tino. "Don't you understand? If we lose this place, I have nowhere to go. You have nowhere to go. We need to be serious and figure out what we are going to do!"

"Weeell," said Denmark slowly. "At a time like this, there's really only one thing you can do." Berwald braced himself for whatever Denmark would come out with now. Denmark surveyed the table with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Party?"

Norway tapped his chin thoughtfully then slightly inclined his head. "Party."

Iceland closed his eyes and threw up a hand. "Party."

Berwald knitted his brows in confusion, Tino put his head in his hands, and Denmark stood, stretched, and grinned manically. "Doll yourselves up, boys, and bust out the fake IDs. We're hitting the town, and we are hitting it hard."

* * *

_To be continued…_


	7. Live Game

_YouTube (/watch?v=HTN6Du3MCgI – If you have no idea what Den is on about. :-P)_

_YouTube (/watch?v=Sj_9CiNkkn4&ob=av3e – And save that one for later on in the chapter... start playing at * ;-P)_

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

_LIVE GAME: A game with a lot of action, usually with unskilled players, especially maniacs._

* * *

Berwald looked at Tino with a silent plea to explain the situation. Party? Tino just mouthed an apology before Iceland hauled him to his feet. "Come on, Fin, let's get ready."

Tino looked immediately resigned to his fate. "All right, you want to party. Where are we going?"

Denmark jumped from his chair, pointed at Tino, and started singing. _"You! I wanna take you to a gay bar!"_

Tino closed his eyes. "Oh, God."

"_I wanna take you to a gay bar!"_

"Please just stop," groaned Tino, putting his hand to his head.

"_I wanna take you to a gay bar, gay bar, gay bar…"_

"What's he on about?" asked Berwald, his eyes narrowing in irritated confusion. Faeroe looked up from the couch.

"I believe he wishes to take you to an all-gentleman's drinking establishment."

"_Do ya? A do ya have any money? I wanna spend all your money! At the gay bar, gay bar, gay bar!"_

"YES I GET IT!" shouted Tino. "Have you forgotten we're not old enough to actually get _into_ a bar, gay or otherwise?"

Iceland scoffed dismissively. "Den made us fake IDs months ago. Besides, once I'm done with you, you'll get in anywhere."

Tino's brows furrowed apprehensively and he edged subtly away from Iceland. "Uh, what does that mean?"

"I swear," said Norway as he crossed the room, "If either of you say the word 'makeover' I will evict you this second on the grounds of being excessively homosexual."

Denmark grinned manically and directed his demented singing to Norway. _"I've got something to put in y-_AARGH!"

Norway flexed his fist and turned away from Denmark. "Sweden. Do you have a fake ID?"

Berwald started to wonder why he even kept responding to that name. "No."

Denmark groaned, still rubbing his recently punched arm. "Oh, maaaaan. We don't have time to make one up now..."

"Don't need one." Everyone looked at Berwald. Norway raised an eyebrow, Iceland tilted his head, and Tino's eyes widened considerably. Denmark narrowed his eyes and folded his arms.

"All right. How old _are_ you, Sweden?"

"Tw'nty-three." Berwald didn't mention that he had not needed to show ID since he was fifteen.

Denmark's wary, slightly threatening expression broke and instead he grinned delightedly. "Told you he wasn't a middle aged pervert, Norge. Sweden, this means you are now the household's official alcohol supplier. Go get changed, you look like a hobo-gardener."

Berwald shook his head. In his idea of a good time, going out on the town with Denmark ranked somewhere between smashing his head against the wall repeatedly and being forced to watch those awful reality shows Greenland and Faeroe seemed to live off. "Th'nks, but… I'll give it a miss."

Denmark waved a hand and followed the others up the stairs. "Whatev. You'd just cramp my style anyway. Oi Iceland, get back here, you are so not having the bathroom first, you take like a fucking month!"

Berwald immediately escaped into the relative safety of the kitchen, determined to camp out until everyone left and he could make his way to his bedroom safely. He spent twenty minutes dealing with the mess which always seemed to accumulate the minute he finished cleaning it, then decided to busy himself making coffee. He took out his favourite coffee mug, put the jug on the boil, opened the fridge to get the milk, then looked up when Tino walked into the kitchen. Berwald dropped the milk carton.

"Iceland," explained Tino, his expression slightly bewildered.

"I, um…" Berwald's brain would not work. Tino was dressed… if 'dressed' was even the right word… in a tight purple shirt, Iceland's white boots, and quite possibly the smallest pair of shorts Berwald had ever seen. "I, um… I, um…" Berwald paused, breathed deeply, and focused really, really hard on getting the next sentence out correctly. "I… um." He barely noticed the milk pooling around his feet.

"Come on, Finland!"

Tino looked in the direction of Denmark's voice then back at Berwald pleadingly. "Please come with me!"

"I…" Berwald had absolutely no choice. "Okay."

It took Berwald five minutes to get ready. When he descended into the living room, Tino still looked helplessly lost, Norway stood tapping his foot, Iceland was fussing with Tino's hair, and Greenland and Faroe looked about as stunned as Berwald.

Greenland blinked incredulously up at Tino. "Who did this thing to you?"

Tino looked helplessly down at himself. "I know! I can't go out like this!"

Iceland rolled his eyes. He was dressed practically identical to Tino. "The hell you can't, you're our ticket into the hottest club in town."

"But I... but I look..."

"Fucking perfect, sweetie. Now remember what I told you to say?"

Tino took a deep breath. "Um... can my friends come in too?"

Iceland nodded. "Just like that, with that little tilt of the head. Now bite your lip that way you do. Beautiful."

Just as Berwald was trying to sort out his wildly oscillating and self-sabotaging emotions, he was momentarily thrown off guard by Denmark sauntering into the room, wearing a garish red suit and a little hat. Norway sneered at him. "You look like a pimp."

"Yeah, baby." Denmark placed an arm each around Norway and Iceland and grinned widely. "Sup, bitches." Norway stomped on his foot.

Denmark barely seemed to notice, and just continued to grin manically. "Gentleman. And now we embark upon the age-old tradition of getting raging drunk in order to forget our problems. Shall we?"

.

The line of people waiting to enter the club stretched halfway down the street. Berwald and his housemates stood in a cluster off to the side, eyeing the security discreetly. "That one," said Iceland, pointing to a bouncer and pushing Tino towards the crowd. "Go, Fin."

Tino, looking a little confused and almost terrified, pushed his way hesitantly through the crowd to the bouncers on the door. Berwald watched, the back of his neck boiling and his hands clenched in fists, as Tino said a few inaudible words. Then Tino tilted his head. The bouncer nodded and Tino turned back to the group, smiling and beckoning them forward.

"Aaall riiight!" cheered Denmark, pushing his way through the crowd to the door. "Move it, peasants. Nice one, Fin."

Berwald shot the bouncer a glare as he walked past. The man took a step backwards.

An hour later and Berwald could not remember the last time he had felt so uncomfortable. He was surrounded by a swarming, sweating, undulating mass of humanity, all at varying degrees of intoxication, all very quickly and easily reminding Berwald why he had always hated nightclubs. He almost found himself looking around for a dirty, discreet back door somewhere - most of these places had games going on if you knew where to find them - but he quelled that notion almost the second he thought it. Besides, what would he even bet with?

Berwald glanced around for his housemates, who seemed to be having no problems at all making themselves at home in the blaring club. Norway had found his way to the bar and was currently knocking back his fourth straight shot of gin. Iceland had found a pole and a rather appreciative audience. Denmark had found the dance floor - and glowsticks. Only Tino seemed as much at a loss as Berwald, pushing through the massing sea of people around the bar. Almost everyone Tino passed stared at him as he went by, some even whistling, some getting so dangerously close that Berwald had to force himself not to charge over and start a few stupid, testosterone-laden barroom brawls. Berwald had been involved in a few by now, and could more than hold his own, but he had to stop and wonder where the desire to start one even came from - he was usually the least confrontational person in the world. Tino eventually made his way through the thronging mass and laughed up at Berwald.

"Gosh, wow. Have you ever seen so many people pressed up like this? We had a dance at my school last year but only like thirty people turned up because everyone went and hung out at the empty lot to drink vodka and make out and look at cars. I would have gone, but I'm just not that interested in cars."

Berwald could not do this. He could not stand here while the most perfect, adorable person in the world stood right beside him and laughed like that and came out with those perfect, adorable things he always said. Berwald took a long sip of his beer and focused again on the previous object of his attention – Denmark on the dance floor. Tino followed his gaze, then tilted his head, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What is he doing?" Tino had to yell to be heard over the deafening electronics and thumping beat.

"Think he's dancin'," replied Berwald, hoping he was loud enough. He was not good at yelling. "Or, uh... tryin' to."

"He looks like he's having a fit."

"Thought 'e was," said Berwald. "Was gettin' ready to do CPR. Then 'e started wavin' the glowsticks so I thought 'e must be 'llright."

Tino giggled loudly. "That was funny."

Berwald raised an eyebrow. "No, 'twasn't. I was serious." This just made Tino burst into another fit of laughter. Berwald looked at him in confusion.

"Sorry," laughed Tino.

"Y'all right, Tino?" asked Berwald carefully. Tino was acting a little different - he certainly did not seem as nervous as usual.

"Of course! Norway gave me one of these!" Tino grinned, holding up an almost empty bottle of some hideous brightly coloured vodka concoction.

"Ah." Well, that explained it. "Ye should go easy on that."

Tino tilted his head, puzzled. "Why?"

"'t's stronger than it tastes."

Tino waved a hand dismissively. "I'm Finnish, remember? I come from a long line of proud people who can hold their vodka and shoot Russians and sit in saunas for a really, really long time." Tino finished his drink, immediately stumbled, and Berwald almost unconsciously reached out and took his arm. He led him through the pressing crowd to a few couches centred around a low table. Berwald glared at the two men already sitting there and they quickly left. Tino barely noticed, just falling heavily onto the couch. Iceland passed by on his way back from the bar and passed Tino a bright purple bottle.

"Ooh." Tino immediately started on the next sugary vodka mixture. Berwald closed his eyes, searched for inner strength, then sat down beside him.

Two drinks later and it was becoming quite evident that Tino was not the best drinker in the world. Berwald was only on his second beer, but used to much stronger. He stared with a mixture of amusement and complete, utter infatuation as Tino waved a bright blue bottle in the air in time with his words. He seemed to be making his way through every colour of the rainbow in vodka form. "And so then, get this, the teacher says that I was totally wrong in my entire interpretation and that there is no way that 'Romeo and Juliet' would ever work in the setting of a zombie apocalypse. So, d'you know what I said?"

"No."

Tino raised his drink. "I said, 'screw you!'"

"Oh. Really?"

Tino took a sip of vodka and shook his head. "No, not really, but I_ thought_ it. I actually said 'okay' and then I just, sort of, sat back down."

Berwald actually had to hold back a burst of laughter. "Well, at least ye thought it."

Tino looked up and caught Berwald's gaze with wide, bright, earnest eyes. "Don't you just wish sometimes that you could say what you're really thinking? I always worry that I'm going to upset someone, or make a fool of myself, or that it's going to come out wrong, which it usually does anyway because my brain just never seems to keep up with my mouth, you know what I mean?"

Berwald nodded. He wasn't actually sure he'd even heard Tino, too captivated by those violet eyes. "Sure."

Tino smiled softly and tilted his head. "Berwald, you're a really, really good listener."

"'kay."

"Do you think we're going to lose the house?"

Oh. _That _Berwald understood. How to answer… Berwald did the way he always did, the only way he really knew how. Honestly. "I don't know."

Tino sighed deeply. "Berwald, what will I do if we get kicked out? I won't have anywhere to go. I'll end up living on the street in a cardboard box. I don't want to live in a cardboard box, Berwald. How will I ever decorate it, nothing goes with that horrible brown colour. Oh my God, and I'll have to wear one of those beanie things with the bobbles on the side! Please don't let that happen to me, Berwald!"

Berwald did not think he could handle this. Tino was the most goddamn adorable thing in the entire world. "I won't. Pr'mise I won't."

Tino giggled cheerfully and laid his head on Berwald's shoulder. Berwald swallowed dryly then took a very long gulp of beer. "That's so nice. You're so nice. What am I going to do with my life, Berwald?

Berwald froze. Oh, no. Drunk talk already. He was not good at this. "I'm sure you'll think of somethin'."

"I'm eighteen, I graduate in a month, and I have no idea what I want to do. Isn't that stupid?"

Berwald was all too aware of Tino's face so close to his. He could almost feel his breath. "No."

Tino waved his drink again as he spoke. "Eduard is going to be a computer whatsit… thing… guy. And Feliks and Toris are both already at college, and… and I just have no idea. I'm not the best at anything. I mean, I can play the piano, but I'm no musical genius. I'm in the soccer team, but I'm no athlete. I get good grades, but I'm never the top of the class. I'm just normal, boring, average."

Berwald scoffed quietly at that. Tino, average? He'd never heard anything so untrue in his entire life. But he did not know how to give compliments, or reassure people, so he simply asked, "Well… what's yer dream?"

Tino paused for a moment. Berwald started to worry he had been inappropriate, but Tino just hummed thoughtfully. "My dream…"

"Yeah. 'f'ye could have anythin', be anythin'."

Tino ducked his head. "No, that's embarrassing!"

"I won't tell." Oh God, what was he saying, what was he asking… Tino pulled back slightly, looked up at him with narrow, wary eyes, and Berwald realised that he actually really, really wanted to know.

"Promise?"

Berwald nodded. "Pr'mise."

"Well…" Tino seemed to think about answering for a moment. He bit his lip, took a deep breath, then spoke in a rush. "I just want a little house with a kid and a fluffy, white dog and a garden and the man of my dreams." Tino immediately dropped his gaze. "I even want the white picket fence." He shrugged and smiled at his hands. "Pathetic, huh."

Berwald's heart flipped almost painfully in his chest. He _really_ could not handle this. "No. Not't all. Honest. 'nd sweet."

Tino took another long sip of vodka, then reached up and pressed his finger to Berwald's lips. "But ssh, I'm not supposed to say that, or want that, because Eduard says that's, like, gender stereotypes and we shouldn't subscribe to those because that just sets our cause back fifty years but I don't even have a cause, I don't even really know what that means, but I think it means that I'm supposed to be a lumberjack or something."

Berwald almost laughed again. "A lumb'rjack?"

"Yeah, you know. Tough, rugged. Eats pancakes, I believe. Red flannel is involved."

This time Berwald could not stop it. Tino was too cute, and too random, and Berwald laughed. He quickly broke off when Tino gasped and grabbed his arm. "Berwald!"

"Uh, what?" he said quickly, shocked by Tino's alarm.

"That's the first time I've heard you laugh!"

Berwald wasn't sure whether to feel embarrassed. "Oh."

Tino smiled. "You should do that more often, you're not so scary when you laugh. That was probably a silly thing to say, though, about the lumberjack. I'm glad Denmark didn't hear me say that..."

"Hear you say what?" Berwald was almost knocked sideways as Denmark vaulted the back of the couch and pushed his way between them. "House rule eleven, Sweden."

Berwald had to force himself not to punch Denmark in the jaw. "We're not in the house," he grunted through gritted teeth.

Denmark smirked disdainfully. "They still count."

Berwald held Denmark's steely gaze easily. "Is that 'xplicitly stated?"

"I'm sure I could amend them to state it." Denmark sneeringly articulated every word.

Berwald felt a tiny smirk on his own lips. "Ye'd have to get a majority vote, wouldn't ye?"

Denmark narrowed his eyes and leant forward until his nose was almost touching Berwald's. "Sometimes, Sweden, I really don't like you very much."

Berwald was about to respond that the feeling was pretty damn mutual when Tino suddenly gasped loudly. The music seemed to suddenly blast ten times louder.

"Oh, oh!" cried Tino. "I LOVE this song! Someone dance with me!" Berwald tore his eyes from Denmark's and watched as Tino jumped excitedly off the couch, almost running into Iceland as he walked back from the bar. Tino took the drinks from Ice, placed them on the small table, and pulled him insistently towards the dance floor.

The song sounded like a thousand Berwald had heard before. But the second Ice and Tino started dancing, the entire club stopped to watch. Berwald had to admit – it was unlike anything he had ever seen. Iceland danced like he was born to do it. He moved effortlessly with the music; his arms rising and falling gracefully, his hips swaying tightly, his entire body perfectly in tune with the thumping bass and the flowing melody. His eyes, dark and lidded, took in the entire room as he glided with the beat, light and heavy and enthralling.

But Tino – well. To be fair, impartial, and completely honest – Tino was quite possibly the worst dancer Berwald had ever seen. He started with some strange sort of epileptic shuffle, then moved on to a quite terrifying mixture of line dancing and flamenco, and once the beat started to get going, he simply jumped and down. People were leaving him a wide berth on the dance floor. Berwald, however, could not tear his eyes away from the perfect Finn.

"Sweden, you're fairly clueless, aren't you."

Berwald blinked at the intrusion on his thoughts, then nearly choked on the irony of Denmark saying those words to anyone. "Me?"

"Yes, do you see another freakishly tall, clinically pissed off looking Scandinavian nation around here anywhere?"

Berwald was really starting to wonder. "You've got s'rious pr'blems, Denmark."

"And you've got a serious speech impediment, honestly, I don't know what you are saying! No, don't try and repeat it, you'll only hurt yourself. As I was saying, you are fairly clueless. Do you not see how glaringly obvious it is that you are in love with Finland?"

Berwald froze. How did everyone seem to know this? He was supposed to be good at hiding his emotions, damn it! Was this the only one he could not hide? He glanced up at Tino, now attempting some kind of Broadway-inspired break-dancing, and realised – he had never felt anything like this. So how was he supposed to know how to hide it? However, Berwald still narrowed his eyes and glared at Denmark, calling upon his most intimidating expression. "Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout."

"Sweden, I'll make it simple." Denmark suddenly looked more serious than Berwald had ever seen him. It was rather jarring. "I've already seen one of my friends hurt. I will not see it happen again. So I swear to you, if you ever do anything to hurt Fin - I will break your fucking teeth."

Berwald paused for a moment. Denmark seemed serious about this. Maybe, somewhere beneath that mad, bizarre exterior, there really were things that he cared about. And again, Berwald looked up at Tino dancing. He was laughing wildly, jumping like he was in a mosh pit, completely oblivious to Iceland's perfectly smooth technique beside him. His blonde hair flew in his beautiful face, his violet eyes flashed brightly; he was a fresh breeze of green grass and brilliant sunshine in a dank, booze-smelling pit.

Berwald glared back at Denmark evenly, and replied honestly. "'f I ever did anythin' to hurt 'im – I'd let you break more than m'teeth."

Denmark looked taken aback, blinked appraisingly, but the heavy tension broke as Norway fell into the chair opposite. "This place is bullshit. The bastard behind the bar tried to stop serving me."

Denmark leant back and looked over, smiling brightly once again. "What'd you say to that?"

"I looked him in the eye and strongly suggested he reconsider."

"And?"

Norway held up a bottle. "Free drink."

Denmark giggled. "That's my boy."

Feeling quite out of place, Berwald again fixed his attention on Tino and Iceland on the dance floor. His view, however, was suddenly obstructed by three young men. The young bespectacled blond sneered down at Denmark with folded arms. "Why hello, Denmark! I didn't think the asylum let you out after nightfall!"

It took Berwald only a second to recognise the men. Eduard, who had spoken and now looked down disdainfully at Denmark; Feliks, who seemed to be paying more attention to his cell phone than anything; and Toris, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. Or, as Denmark called them, Estonia, Lithuania and Poland. Tino seemed to have noticed at the same time, as he suddenly charged over and shrieked before Denmark had a chance to respond. Berwald winced.

"Oi, Finland!" shouted Denmark, placing his hands to his ears. "I need both my eardrums, you know!"

Tino ignored Denmark and threw his arms around the small group. "My friends! Yay, my friends are here!"

"Hey, Tino," said Eduard. Berwald glared at the boy's arms around Tino's waist. "How did you get in here oh crap that blond guy there is your terrifying new housemate isn't he…"

Tino laughed and pushed Eduard away playfully. "Eduard, this is Berwald. Don't be mean."

Eduard smiled very carefully, but it did not reach his eyes. "It's nice to meet you, properly, Berwald."

Berwald gritted his teeth and tried to be polite. For Tino's sake. "Hi." Eduard looked at him as though expecting him to go on. Berwald had no idea what else he was supposed to say. Thankfully Denmark broke the awkward pause.

"Well, well, so Mother Bear has let the Russian cubs out to play!"

Feliks still focused on his phone, but Toris clenched his fists and growled angrily. "I. Am. Lithuanian!"

"That's what I said. Russian."

Toris looked like he was going to explode. "I... you... I… I need to go away."

Denmark threw a leg onto the coffee table to prevent Toris' escape, but his eyes were fixed on Eduard. "So, Estonia! I've told you a hundred times, you can't join Scandinavia, we're full. Go hang out with your Baltic brothers where you belong."

Eduard rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. "Denmark, I wouldn't live with you if you paid me a thousand bucks a week and worked as my personal slave."

Norway downed the remainder of his drink. "He's broke, and he works for me."

Eduard furrowed his brows and twisted his lip. "Seriously, just what…"

Denmark sighed loudly. "Okay, Estonia, stop begging, please, you're embarrassing yourself."

Eduard pressed his lips together, breathed deeply through his nose, and turned to Tino. "How do you live with him?"

"How d'ye live with Ivan?" No one spoke. It took Berwald a few moments to realise that he was the one who had.

"Yeah," said Denmark finally, as though realising. He leant forward on the couch and glared indignantly at the three young men. "Yeah! I'm far better than that creepy Russian, at least I'm only fucking one of my minions!"

Despite the thumping music, the atmosphere turned abruptly cold and deathly silent. It was Feliks who finally raised his voice. "Excuse me?" he asked, finally looking up from his phone, his hand on his hip and his expression deadly. "But, like, what the shit is that supposed to mean?"

Denmark smirked deviously. "Come off it, Poland. Everyone knows Russia keeps your sweet little asses from being deported, and does what he wants with them in return."

Feliks lost it. Eduard and Toris only just managed to restrain the wild-eyed Pole as he charged. "I'll kill you, Denmark!" Feliks screamed. "I'll totally scratch your fucking eyes out!"

"Try it, sweetheart." Norway stood smoothly and stepped between Feliks and Denmark. "Try it and I will, like, totally rip that pretty little ponytail out of your scalp."

Berwald felt his shoulders tense as he prepared for some sort of eye-scratching, hair-ripping showdown. The tension seemed to break, however, when Tino stumbled over to Norway and threw his arm around him heavily. "Hey, hey!" Everyone stared silently as Tino laughed and gestured wildly. "Why can't we all just get along? It's like that song, you know. You know, that song. Berwald, tell them the song."

Berwald tried to sink into the couch as the small group turned their startled eyes on him. "Um, I… don't know what…"

"Yeah, that one," said Tino, still hanging onto Norway, whose blank expression never wavered. Tino started to sing tunelessly. "_Why can't we all… just get along…" _He trailed off, stopped, then glared intently at Eduard. "I don't like you guys fighting. You shouldn't fight, because you're all my friends, and…"

Eduard narrowed his eyes. "Tino, how much have you had to drink?"

Before Tino managed to respond, Iceland walked over and fixed Toris with a deep, bitter glare. Toris took an unsteady step backwards, turned red, and quickly looked away. "This place is tired," said Iceland calmly. "Let's go."

Berwald did not need to be told twice. He grabbed Denmark by the arm, pulled him off the couch, then pushed between Norway, Tino and his friends, sweeping his two housemates towards the door. Iceland followed of his own accord. Tino shouted back as he was herded towards the door. "I'll call you guys tomorrow! Hey, hey, Feliks bro, tag me on facebook!"

.

Berwald had learnt, many years earlier, that when some people reached a certain level of intoxication, it was impossible to stop them seeking further chemical stimulation and social interaction. Berwald now realised, as he and his housemates walked down the loud, busy, neon-lit inner city street, that he was currently with four of those people.

"What is _their _problem? I mean, _what_ is their problem? Do you know what I mean, though? What _is _their problem?"

"Their problem is you, Den, you stupid bastard."

"No, baby, no, I mean besides me_, _whatis their_ problem_? Ice, man, you got any idea?"

"Their problem is that Ivan has convinced them they're something important and precious and beautiful but what they don't know yet is that one day he is going to rip their hearts out before their eyes, laugh in their faces, and force them to watch as he devours their very souls from a silver platter before washing them down with a glass of their own bitter tears."

"Ooh! Karaoke!"

Berwald turned his stunned gaze from Iceland's rather horrifying monologue, followed Tino's jumpy, excited gesture, then barely had time to keep up as the bouncing Finn took off across the street. The others seemed more than happy to follow Tino into the dark doorway, passing under a brightly flashing sign that read that most evil of all Japanese words: _Karaoke_. Berwald let out a long, resigned sigh, but had no choice but to follow.

The 'karaoke' bar was nothing but a fairly small, dodgy looking pub, filled with middle aged men who all stopped, turned, and stared at the five new arrivals. The music broke off, the housemates froze, and someone whistled. Denmark raised his fist in a salute. "Rock on." He quickly nudged Iceland. "Hey, Ice, go dance on the bar."

Norway grabbed Iceland by a belt loop when he started to hurry off. "No, Ice." Norway looked up at Berwald. "He has a little trouble with sarcasm when he's drunk."

"Who's being sarcastic?" asked Denmark. Berwald raised his eyes to the ceiling, put a hand to his forehead, and wondered again just what the hell he was doing here.

"Hello!" cried Tino, waving cheerfully at the room in general.

Of course. That's why. Berwald took Tino's arm, put on his intimidation face, and led him to the bar where Norway was already dragging a laughing Dane and a morose Icelander. The music started again - some boring sounding ballad - followed moments later by a bored looking man on stage mumbling into the microphone. The men who clustered around the tall centre tables went back to their drinks. The bartender looked over the bar and eyed the newcomers suspiciously. "You boys lose your way?"

Norway slammed a fifty down on the counter. "Not paying you to talk, bar bitch. Five shots of your strongest."

Denmark leant over Norway's shoulder. "And five beers."

"And five beers," added Norway.

"And some peanuts."

The bartender raised one dark, bushy eyebrow. Norway straightened his shoulders and leant further over the bar. "You heard the man. Peanuts."

The bartender rolled his eyes, spread five shot glasses on the table, and reached for a tall, green bottle. Berwald's eyebrows shot up – this was the last thing any of his housemates needed at this stage. "Maybe that's not th'best…" It was too late. The others reached for the shots and downed them. Denmark cheered, Iceland coughed, and Norway slammed the glass back down on the bar before glaring at the bartender.

"Beer."

"Peanuts!"

Tino stared into the shot glass contemplatively. "What is this? It tastes like burning liquorice."

"Abs'nthe," said Berwald anxiously.

Tino's face brightened "Oh! Like the French poets drank! I've seen the old pictures, I'm supposed to start seeing fairies now, aren't I?"

Iceland snorted. "Been seeing 'em all night, Fin. Here." Iceland passed Tino a beer and Berwald wondered if it would incredibly inappropriate to take it off him. He decided it would be, but was relieved when Tino took one sip and made a face.

"Eurgh, that's horrible. Here, Berwald, you can have it. Hey Norway, Nor, buy me another one of those purple ones." Norway did so, and Berwald gritted his teeth.

"Hey Sweden," grinned Denmark, leaning back against the bar. "Why haven't we seen you dance yet? All Swedish men can dance. Get up on the bar with Iceland."

Norway again had to grab Iceland by a belt buckle. "Sarcasm, Ice."

Berwald raised an eyebrow. "Is that th'same as all Danish men are unwashed alc'holics?"

Denmark threw back his head and laughed. "And Swedes all talk like this -" Denmark waved his hands in the air and raised his voice. "'I em freekeeshly tall und hef-a noo sense-a ooff hoomuoor. Hurty flurty schnipp schnipp!'"

Berwald tried not to roll his eyes. Oh yes, it was only a matter of time before the Swedish Chef jokes. "Sure, 'kay, and Danes're obsessed with bicycling 'nd pornography."

"Hey, hey." Denmark raised a finger, a stern expression on his face. "I have never ridden a bicycle in my life. And at least my furniture doesn't all come from IKEA."

Berwald snorted. "No, it all comes from th'side of th'road."

Iceland whistled. "Ooh, snap." He elbowed Norway. "Isn't this kind of hot?"

"More absinthe!" shouted Norway. "By God, more absinthe."

Berwald just shook his head and turned away, only to find that Tino was nowhere to be seen. His stomach dropped to his feet. "Where's Tino?"

Iceland took a sip of beer and pointed. Berwald frantically scanned the crowd before finally spotting Tino standing near the stage, looking over the karaoke song list and talking animatedly with three large, hairy men dressed in head to toe leather. One looked like the Crocodile Hunter in bondage gear, one was considerably smaller than the others and had a sheepskin collar on his jacket, and one had gravity-defying hair and was smoking something that looked suspiciously like a joint.

Denmark laughed raucously, noticing at the same time. "Well, if it isn't Goldilocks and the three bears!"

Berwald's eyes flashed and he immediately rushed over. Tino looked up from the plastic song book and broke into a bright, delighted, perfect smile.

"Berwald! This is Oz, Ned, and…" Tino turned to the smallest, blond man. "I'm sorry, your name was?"

"You can call me Kiwi, love."

Tino burst into giggles. "Isn't his accent _awesome? _He's from New Zealand. Oz is from Australia, and Ned is from Holland, and they're all helping me find a song to sing!"

"Berwald!" cried Oz cheerfully. "Your boyfriend's adorable!" Berwald glared at the man murderously, but Oz just laughed. "Settle down, sweetheart, this one's mine." Oz leant over and kissed Ned on the cheek. Ned just blew out a mouthful of smoke. Yep – definitely a joint. "So Berwald, mate, you gonna sing a duet with this adorable boyfriend of yours?"

Berwald found himself unable to answer, but Tino burst into laughter. "Oh, no, he's not my boyfriend, Oz!"

Oz looked Berwald up and down, his dark eyes intensely perceptive beneath even darker brows, his lips twisted in a smirk beneath a moustache worthy of the Village People. "Why not? He's gorgeous. He's got that strong, silent, kills things with his bare hands look going for him."

Berwald narrowed his eyes, but Tino just giggled again. "Berwald doesn't _kill_ things, Oz! Berwald's really nice. He's never hurt anyone, ever, have you Berwald?"

Berwald lowered his eyes, strangely ashamed. He was thankfully saved from having to answer that awkward question when a familiar Euro-pop tune blasted from the stage, followed by Tino gasping, jumping, and crying out, "Oh my GOD! I LOVE this song!" And then he disappeared. Berwald blinked and spun around frantically. Damn, how did Tino disappear so fast?

* "Good luck, mate." Berwald turned around to see Oz, Ned and Kiwi grinning at him. Well, Oz and Kiwi, anyway – Ned just sort of scowled. Oz continued, "This is the bit where you, ya know, run after the bloke or something."

"You do make a _very_ cute couple, love," said Kiwi, winking.

Ned blew out a mouthful of smoke and asked smoothly, "Have you ever considered leather, Berwald?"

Berwald paused for only a moment. "Not rec'ntly," he answered, before pushing into the crowd in search for one very drunk, very happy, very still-damn-perfect Finn. It was only seconds before that bright, beautiful voice suddenly screamed into the microphone and blasted into the pub.

"I LOVE THIS SONG!"

Berwald froze. He spun around to see Tino standing on stage with his bright, shining eyes, his perfectly messy golden hair, his adorable smile, and his tiny, tiny shorts. The room cheered in response and Tino started singing... or rather shouting... just in time for the chorus.

"_Waterloo - I was defeated you won the war." _Tino grinned madly into the microphone, apparently attempting to sing as loud as humanly possible. A few cheers rang out from the crowd._ "Waterloo – promise to love you forever more!"_

Berwald felt his mouth drop open and his limbs turn rigid with shock. "Oh, m'God…"

"_Waterloo – couldn't escape if I wanted to." _The crowd started to clap along. "_Waterloo – knowing my fate is to be with you!" _Tino sang almost as badly as he danced. He also looked euphoric as he shouted into the microphone, and managed to draw the attention of every person in the room. _"Whoa oh oh oh, Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo!"_

Berwald tried to rush for the stage but was stopped by a familiar, iron grip on his shoulder. Norway waved a hand and spoke in a monotone. "And now you understand the 'No ABBA' rule." He took a sip of his beer.

Tino raised a hand above his head, swung his hips, and lurched into the next verse. _"My my! I tried to hold you back but you were stronger!"_

Denmark appeared beside them, cheering loudly, moving in some sort of mad, animated dance. "Woo yeah! Work it baby!"

"_Oh yeah! And now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight."_

Iceland threw an arm over Norway's shoulders, tilted his head to the side, and hummed thoughtfully. "I am never lending him my boots again, they look way too good on him."

Tino shook his hips and raised his arm, looking like he was trying not to laugh. _"And how could I ever refuse?"_

Berwald shook his head, partly transfixed and partly horrified. "We have to stop him!"

"_I feel like I win when I lose!"_

Denmark grabbed Berwald by the arm as he tried again to charge for the stage. "Are you kidding me? This is gold! Ooh, wait, I gotta get this on film…" Denmark immediately pulled his phone from his pocket and started filming.

"_Waterloo - I was defeated you won the war." _All Tino's insecurities seemed to have melted away as he stood on this silly little stage in this silly little bar, singing his heart out to a brilliantly cliché Swedish pop tune. "_Waterloo - promise to love you forever more!"_

The crowd was cheering now, everyone in the pub caught up as Tino sang wildly into the microphone, waving his hand in the air and attempting some strange kind of clothed striptease. Berwald was caught between cheering along and wanting to beat down every man in the place.

"_Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to. Waterloo – knowing my fate is to be with you."_ And finally Berwald stopped, thought clearly, and calmed down. Because Tino was adorable, and beautiful, and yes, he was drunk as hell, but he was also having the time of his life. Denmark raised his beer in the air, cheering; Iceland put his fingers to his mouth and whistled; and even Norway almost cracked a smile. Berwald just put his hand to his head and watched as Tino tried to sing, tried to dance, and succeeded in drawing the entire room to their feet. _"Whoa oh oh oh, Waterloo – finally facing my Waterloo!"_

And when Tino's eyes met his, violet and wild and joyful, Berwald felt the next words he sang fire through his ears and make mad, perfect sense. _"So how could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I lose!"_

Well, Berwald laughed inwardly. Wasn't that the truth.

"_Waterloo – couldn't escape if I wanted to. Waterloo – knowing my fate is to be with you!"_

.

"Greenland! Faeroe! Man, you guys missed the most amazing night! Tell them, Berwald, tell them what an amazing night they missed. Oh, they're asleep. Night, Greenland! Night, Faeroe! But as I was saying, Berwald, wouldn't you _totally_ go and see ABBA if they reformed? You'd have to, you're, like, culturally obligated or something. Is it just me or is this staircase moving? But yeah, I saw 'Mamma Mia' last year and it was fabulous and I'm not just saying that because you're Swedish and night, Den! Night, Norge! Don't stay up too late, hur hur. Ice, I swear, if you don't put that phone down and go to bed I will throw this traffic cone at you. How did I get this traffic cone? Oh look, Berwald, we're in the bedroom." Berwald let out a very deep breath, silently cursed Iceland for giving Tino that last shot of Jägermeister, then lowered Tino from his shoulder and set him on his feet.

"You're not scary at all, are you Berwald, not really… you're actually really nice." Tino smiled as he fell forward. Berwald caught him and set him back on his feet. "You're reeeally nice, Berwald."

Berwald waited until Tino was standing steadily, then reluctantly took his hands from Tino's shoulders. "'kay. Time fer bed."

Tino smiled again, softer this time, and tilted his head. "Do you think I'm nice?"

"Yes." Berwald really hoped he would not have to deal with more drunk talk. Tino's drunk talk was too senseless and too adorable to take much more of.

"Oh, good. And you're cute too! Oops I wasn't supposed to say that out loud." Tino reached up and pressed his finger to Berwald's lips. "Ssh, don't tell anyone. You know, Berwald…" Tino pulled up straight and fixed Berwald with a focused glare. "I really, really like you."

"Oh," said Berwald, starting to feel a little wary. "Good."

"Do you…" Tino dropped his hands to Berwald's shoulders, lowered his gaze, and paused. "… like me?" Tino looked up slowly, entrancingly, with wide, bright, alluring eyes through long, dark lashes.

Berwald's throat turned dry and the room began to spin. He blinked a few times, his mind blank, his body frozen. He couldn't… he didn't… _No_, Berwald told himself firmly. Tino was drunk, and in no way actually interested in him. But Berwald still answered his question honestly. "Yes. V'ry much."

Tino giggled happily and started playing absently with Berwald's collar. "Do you think I'm sexy?"

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit… _Berwald could barely breathe. An inferno fired from the touch of Tino's hands, across Berwald's skin and into his veins, flooding his chest and his gut and spreading lower and… "Think yer sexy." Berwald summoned every ounce of strength in his possession, took Tino's warm, soft hands in his, and pushed them away. "Also think yer drunk." Tino did not take the hint. He flattened his hand on Berwald's chest and met his gaze earnestly.

"Berwald, that Australian in the bar, Oz, it's so funny, he thought you were my boyfriend, isn't that _funny?_"

Berwald again tried to push Tino gently away, fighting the treacherous desire flooding his veins. "H'larious."

"Berwald?"

"Yes?"

"I... I..." Tino's expression suddenly went blank, his eyes widened, and he turned white. "I think I'm going to throw up." Tino promptly bent at the waist and vomited on Berwald's shoes. Neither moved. After a few very long, very silent moments, Tino looked up slowly, his face distraught. "I think I need to go to bed," he whispered.

Berwald actually had to stop himself from laughing. And he had to admit, he was slightly relieved at the cessation of that escalating situation. Still, no one but Tino could look so perfectly adorable at a moment like this. Berwald nodded and attempted to smile kindly – not an expression he was used to, and he wasn't sure he managed it. But when Tino looked at him with those wide, anxious, helpless violet eyes, Berwald's heart melted in a way he'd never thought it could. And he'd _really_ thought he couldn't fall any further. "Yes. I'll help you."

Berwald practically carried Tino to the bed, pulled off the ridiculous white boots, and drew the covers up to his chest. Tino was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Berwald could not stop himself staring silently at Tino's sleeping face. His eyelashes dark against pale, perfect skin; his lips slightly open and stained blue from coloured vodka. And Berwald found himself wondering, for the first time, if Tino might ever truly feel something for him. But even as he thought it, Berwald knew it was impossible. Tino was pure and strange and beautiful; he wanted gardens and family and white picket fences. What did Berwald have? Crippling debt and a criminal history. Berwald was not worthy of someone as good and perfect as Tino.

"G, night Tino." There was no response. His heart thumping, Berwald allowed himself to reach out and very gently brush a lock of golden hair from Tino's warm, smooth forehead. But Berwald forced himself to remember his unworthiness; and he forced himself to walk from the room.

* * *

_To be continued..._

* * *

_Yes, I made Australia, New Zealand and the Netherlands into bears. Why? Because I can. _ (^。^)y-.

_(You know that hint of NedOz was for you, Claudia, as possibly my only fellow NedOz shipper. Rock on, darling. ;-D)_


	8. Five of a Kind

_YouTube (/watch?v=B7UmUX68KtE) Why am I linking Swedish Chef? WHY? Read on, to find out… or it could just be because Swedish Chef is simply awesome. Actually, go watch Swedish Chef videos on YouTube for a bit. Go on, I'll wait._

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_FIVE OF A KIND: A hand possible only in games with wild cards, comprising five cards of equal rank._

* * *

Berwald tried to make his footsteps as light as possible as he walked softly into Tino's bedroom. It was almost noon, but Tino had not stirred from his bed since Berwald had basically carried him there the night before. Frankly, with the amount he had drunk, Berwald wouldn't be surprised if Tino did not stir for a week. He very gently placed a jug of water and a glass on the bedside table, then turned to leave. He was immediately stopped by a low moan.

"Am I dead?"

Berwald felt a small smile tug at his lips. "No. Yer not dead." He turned back to see Tino peering blearily through a small gap in the covers.

"Last night..."

Berwald's heart beat faster. How much would Tino recall? "Hm?"

"Did I… " Tino's forehead furrowed as though he was trying to remember. "Did I... sing ABBA?"

Not much, apparently. Berwald wondered how to answer that question gently. "Um… yeah."

"Oh, no." Tino's face disappeared beneath the covers once again. Berwald tried to control his smile. "I was hoping I'd dreamed it."

Berwald shrugged, unsure what to say. "Was pretty good."

"I made an idiot of myself," came Tino's muffled voice from beneath the blankets.

"No," said Berwald firmly.

Tino pulled the covers down enough to reveal a flash of blonde hair and one violet eye. Berwald's heart stuttered unevenly. "And did I… did I say anything weird? When we got home?"

Berwald took a sharp breath as Tino's words came flooding back. _And you're cute too!... I really, really like you… Do you think I'm sexy?_ Berwald only paused for a moment. "No. Nothin' weird."

Tino closed his eyes and breathed out in relief. "Oh. Good. Berwald?"

"Yes?"

"I'm never drinking again. How does Denmark do this every day? I'm going to die."

Berwald had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. No matter where he was or how he looked, Tino remained the most damned adorable thing in the entire world. "Yer not goin' t'die. Go back t'sleep, Tino. There's water next to ye."

Tino disappeared under the covers once again. "Thank you, Berwald."

.

Berwald stumbled back down to the living room. The rest of the household were sprawled across the couches and the floor, all in various states of hungover dishevellment. Greenland and Faeroe lay under their customary layer of accumulated trash. Denmark sat with his feet in a bowl of water and a beer bottle in his hand; a fluffy pink bathrobe around his shoulders and an icepack perched on his head. Iceland lay flat on his back, still dressed in his tiny outfit from the night before, a wet cloth over his face and three different packets of painkillers by his side. Norway, however, just sat tapping at his laptop on the coffee table. He looked completely unaffected, even though he'd probably drunk twice as much as everyone else. "How's the Finn?" he asked monotonously, his eyes not moving from the computer screen.

"Sick," Berwald replied, resting his hands on the back of a chair.

Norway nodded. "Unsurprising."

"I'm pretty sure it was that last Jägerbomb," Iceland muttered, his voice muffled beneath his face-cloth.

Denmark groaned as he adjusted his icepack. "Or, you know, the fact that he drank his own body weight in coloured vodka."

"No alcohol tolerance, any of you," said Norway blankly. "Pathetic."

"How much did we drink last night, anyway?" moaned Iceland. "Actually, never mind that. How much did we _spend?"_

"We emptied Den's bank account," replied Norway. "Counterproductive, in a way, but it felt fantastic."

Iceland whistled. "Good work."

Denmark took a long swig of beer then leant forward slightly. Berwald stared at him incredulously. How could Denmark even _think_ of drinking again already? The night before he'd been so drunk he lost a fight with a fire hydrant. "All right, so I think we can safely agree that this 'party' idea didn't exactly solve our problems."

Norway looked up from his laptop screen to stare at Denmark derisively. "What an astounding observation."

"And, I think we all understand, there's really only one thing we can do." Denmark took another sip of beer and shrugged. "We've gotta sell Greenland."

Greenland raised his head through a layer of empty chip packets. "Hey!"

Denmark raised a hand. "Look, I know your arid areas for production and generally shitty weather are gonna make you a tough sell, but let's face it - Faeroe's always been the pretty one."

Faeroe yawned and nodded. "He's got a point."

Berwald rolled his eyes. Okay, so last night had been an interesting distraction. But now they were back to the same problem: they had a week to make ten thousand dollars, and no way to do it. Ten grand used to be nothing to Berwald. Now, it may as well be ten million. "Not sellin' anyone. But we've got t'do somethin'.

"What can we possibly do?" asked Iceland bitterly. "We went through this last night. We've got less than a week. Let's face it." Iceland raised a glass of painkiller-laced water. "That was our last hurrah."

"Jägerbombs and Abba," said Norway flatly. "What a way to go out."

Denmark tossed his icepack onto the ground and glared at it petulantly. "How hard can this be? We're Vikings, damn it!"

"Vikings, now?" Norway snorted. "So what, we should stock up our longship and head downtown to plunder the real estate office?"

Denmark's face brightened. "Ooh! I could use my axe!"

Berwald groaned under his breath and turned to leave. It was still too early for this. "I'll be in th'garden."

"You spend too much time in that garden, young man!" Denmark shouted after him. "It's not natural! And you're just raising the value for the next bastards who move in!"

Berwald ignored him and headed outside. Despite it being a work and school day for the entire house, everyone had come to the unspoken decision to stay home after their wild all nighter. But Berwald hadn't drunk nearly as much as the others, and alcohol never affected him much, so he was not feeling too bad as he started work on the garden. He tried not to think about the fact that this would all be a waste of time if they were evicted, which in all likelihood they would be. He tried not to think about where Tino would go; what he would do; how Berwald could bear to live without seeing him every day.

The hours passed peacefully out in the gentle sunshine. But as he worked, Berwald slowly noticed that, despite everyone being home, the house was quieter than he had ever heard it. The phone wasn't ringing; the television wasn't blaring; Denmark wasn't yelling through the window or attempting to whistle or engaging in deafening bedroom activities with Norway. It was rather strange. Berwald furrowed his brow as he started on another row of yellow daisies. In fact, even taking into account everyone's inevitable hangovers, the mood of his fellow housemates had been decidedly reserved this morning. They almost seemed to actually understand the gravity of the situation. But that was ridiculous, Berwald told himself. They didn't care for anything. If they lost this house, what would it mean to them? All Iceland cared about was money. All Norway cared about was himself. And Denmark was too insane to give a damn about anything. Berwald wondered briefly if it was fair to think like that, but then angrily decided it didn't matter. This mess they were in was not his fault. It was not Tino's fault. Berwald tossed his shovel to the ground then ran a dirt-streaked hand through his hair. What _was_ the point of planting this garden? They'd be out on the street soon enough. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Berwald stormed back towards the house. It looked like his only option was to start looking for another place to live.

As he neared the back kitchen door, Berwald slowed when he heard someone talking. The last thing he wanted was to speak with anyone in this house right now. The words grew louder, until Berwald realised that the voice he was hearing was Iceland's. Something about the words made him stop and listen.

"She didn't… no! I can't even imagine… she did? With _her_ hip? Giiirl, that is mad crazy. Me? Nothing as wild as your bingo nights at the hall, Gladys. Just the same old, I'm afraid…"

Berwald furrowed his brows and drew closer to the door. This didn't sound like one of Iceland's usual phone calls.

"I know… Of course, I know. You can surround yourself with a hundred people and yet, you still feel alone." A short silence fell as Berwald paused at the door. Iceland sat at the kitchen bench, the phone against his ear, staring at the wall as he listened intently. Berwald felt slightly guilty for eavesdropping, but Iceland's tone and manner were entirely different – something he had never seen before. He couldn't help being intrigued. Iceland nodded, his expression suddenly almost pained.

"Well, that's it, love. People look at you and they decide for themselves what they're looking at. Whether it's a fabulous diva they see as a crazy old lady, or a kid in white boots they see as a slut. Sometimes it's easier to just _be_ what they think you are. But in the end, fuck 'em. They can think what they want. Doesn't make 'em right."

Berwald felt an almost painful empathy in his chest. Was that the way Iceland felt? Was that was he was hiding behind his blank façade? It was too simple. It was too unfair.

Iceland's tone brightened when he spoke again. "Better things to do than chat with my best caller? Nonsense, love. And don't even _talk_ about payment. No, stop it, don't be silly. I tell you what, you send me one of those fabulous crochet scarves of yours and we'll call it even. Until next week! Tell Doris that lady is insane!" Iceland laughed brightly. "Bye, love." Iceland hung up the phone, headed for the front room, then faltered when he noticed Berwald in the back doorway. His expression turned immediately blank. "What?"

"Nothin.'" Berwald quickly looked at the floor and waited for Iceland to leave. He didn't. They both stood in silence for a few moments.

"What do you want from him?"

Berwald glanced up uncomprehendingly. Iceland stood with his hand on his hip and his head tilted to the side. He looked both curious and confrontational. "Well? I know you can speak, Berwald. I'm talking about Tino. What do you want from him?"

Berwald was more surprised that Iceland had used his real name than anything. "I don't know what ye mean. I don't want anythin.'"

Iceland scoffed. "Bullshit. No one is that nice. People always want something. They'll pretend they don't; they'll lie. They'll say they love you, and then they'll take what they want and leave you broken and empty while they just laugh at how very stupid you were to believe them."

Berwald had not really seen this side of Iceland. What could have brought it out so suddenly? It was startling, but it was honest. And more than anything, it explained a lot. "'twas Ivan, wasn't it?" Iceland jerked his head away angrily. Berwald quickly continued. "M'sorry. Really. But I'm not like that."

Iceland did not look convinced. "Everyone is like that. Are you saying you're different? What kind of person are you, Berwald?"

"What kind of person d'ye think I am? What do ye decide fer yerself when ye look at me?"

Iceland paused at that. He ran a hand through his hair, looked at the ground, and leant back against the bench. Then he laughed softly. "Do you know, Berwald… I think you actually sort of fit in this mess of a household."

Berwald shrugged. He was quite aware of what an odd moment this was, and yet it felt completely natural at the same time. "Depends how long we're here, I s'pose."

Iceland nodded. "Well, that's true. I've been trying to take more calls, but… well, some people just call because they don't have anyone else to talk to. And I can't charge people for being lonely."

Berwald actually felt his chest ache at that. And he wondered, for the first time, if he had seriously misjudged this unfathomable boy known as Iceland.

The afternoon passed in the same slow, strange quiet, until Berwald started to suspect he was alone in the house. Of course Tino was still in bed, and probably would be until tomorrow; and Greenland and Faeroe still lay on their couch, but they didn't really count, somehow. It was as he was passing the study, oddly curious as to where his other mad housemates had disappeared to, that Berwald was again stopped by someone's voice. This time it was the startling, unfamiliar sound of Denmark speaking seriously that halted Berwald in his tracks, intrigued. He peered through the doorway to see Denmark sitting at the large central desk, his back to the door and the phone against his ear. His words were in Danish, which Berwald could understand well enough.

"Hey, Mum! Yeah, it's me… hi." Denmark tapped his foot restlessly against the floor and ran a hand anxiously through his hair. "Uh, yeah, I know Dad said that, I… I know, I just…" Denmark took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. "Well, I just happened to glance at the calendar and I noticed it was his birthday the other day, so I thought maybe I'd call real quick and say…" Denmark's tapping foot went still. "Oh. He wouldn't, huh? Okay, that's… yeah, I understand. So, uh, how are y…" His hand froze in his hair and he lowered his head. "Oh, right, sure. I'll let you go then. All right. Good..." Denmark broke off, paused again, then slowly looked down at the phone. "...bye, Mum."

Berwald stood watching, completely still, hardly daring to breathe. The surprises today just kept coming. He never would have guessed that Denmark could sound so serious, so... devastated. Berwald barely knew what to feel – sorry, sad, bewildered. Trying to sort out his feelings and assumptions, it took Berwald too long to notice that Norway was standing behind him. Guilty shame burned his skin, and Berwald tried to think of some way to explain. But Norway did not acknowledge him. He simply walked past Berwald into the room, took the phone from Denmark's hand, and placed it firmly on the desk.

"When are you going to learn, Den?" The words sounded stern. But when Norway reached out and touched Denmark's cheek, his expression was pained, and he was only gentle. He sat slowly, gently on Denmark's lap; took his hand and smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead. Denmark let out a shuddering breath. He clutched onto Norway, pulled him close, and leant into his neck as Norway's arms surrounded him.

Berwald immediately lowered his eyes. He quickly turned and left, his mind turning in circles and his chest still aching strangely. It seemed nothing in this place was the way he first thought.

.

It was three p.m, and Berwald was onto his third cup of coffee. He was growing sick of this instant mix. He almost decided to buy a grinder, then wondered if they would be here long enough for that. The house was still uncannily silent. It had certainly been an interesting day, to say the least. Berwald found himself pondering Tino's words from a few days earlier - _It's easier to be odd or crazy or insane than to hurt all the time._

Berwald turned back towards the fridge and stopped short when Tino appeared in the kitchen doorway. His messy hair, ruffled pyjamas, and eyeliner-stained eyes were a stark contrast to his appearance the night before. Berwald thought, his head spinning and his heart stuttering, that he looked just as breathtaking. And still rather hungover. "Help," Tino croaked. Berwald tried not to laugh.

"M're water?"

Tino's faintly wild gaze fell on the coffee pot. His eyes lit up and he practically raced towards the bench. "Ohhh, coffee…"

"Here." Berwald pushed his coffee across the bench, then set about making more as Tino practically devoured the mug. "How 'bout breakfast? Can make bacon n'eggs if ye like."

Tino raised an eyebrow over the coffee mug. "It's three p.m."

Berwald shrugged. "Greasy food'll settle yer stomach."

Tino looked slightly suspicious of that, but he just nodded an agreement as he took a tall seat at the bench. "Okay. Thank you, Berwald."

Berwald really shouldn't feel such a flutter in his stomach at a simple thanks. He took bacon, eggs and tomatoes from the fridge, placed them on the bench, then opened a drawer to grab the pan.

"I'm still…" Tino immediately trailed off, and Berwald looked over to see him staring at the counter uncertainly. "I'm still a bit worried. Last night was fun, but... but I really don't know what I'll do if we lose this place."

And Berwald _really_ shouldn't want desperately to pull Tino into his arms every time he looked uncertain like that. "It's okay. I'll take care of ye."

Tino looked for a moment like he was about to roll his eyes and laugh, but he bit his lip as though to stop it. "That's a very odd thing to say, you know."

Berwald could feel the back of his neck burning. Of course it was odd. Why could he never say the right thing… Berwald tore his gaze from Tino and concentrated on placing the bread in the toaster. "Is it? Sorry."

Tino shook his head, but a smile remained on his lips. "It's funny. After last night, I see it clearly. You sort of – fit here, Berwald. It's like, you balance the rest of us out, you know?"

Fit here – it was the second time he'd heard that today. Berwald could have laughed. He never fit anywhere. To hear it about a place like this... Berwald wasn't sure if Tino was completely wrong, or absolutely correct. He also didn't know how to respond, so he focused intensely on oiling the pan and adding the bacon and chopping the tomatoes and cracking the eggs and...

Tino let out a sudden, bright burst of laughter. Berwald looked up in confusion. "What?"

"You're the Swedish Chef." Tino grinned as he said it, leaning forward on the bench with his chin on his hand, his violet eyes sparkling with mirth.

Berwald felt a smile on his own lips. He was quite used to these random statements Tino came out with by now. The Swedish Chef… Berwald remembered watching the 'The Muppets' with his father when they first moved from Sweden. It almost became a ritual, to turn the television on every Friday evening and laugh at how silly the stereotype was. Berwald never did understand how the Chef was supposed to be Swedish – he'd actually always thought he sounded more Norwegian. Regardless, the mention brought back fond memories. "Well, I don't have the mustache, but... " Berwald reached for the tall, white chef's hat - most likely Denmark's - which always hung inexplicably above the stove. He flattened it slightly and placed it on his head. "'ve got th'hat."

Tino's eyes widened, incredulous, then his smile grew to a grin. He picked a pink dishcloth off the bench, tied it into bow, and reached over to tuck it into Berwald's collar. "And the bow tie."

Tino's hands lingered on Berwald's collar, their eyes locked for the slightest moment too long. Berwald wondered madly if Tino remembered anything of their conversation in the bedroom the night before. Tino eventually dropped his gaze and his cheeks reddened. Strangely desperate to keep this odd conversation alive, and feeling some long-dormant playfulness begin to emerge, Berwald determinedly picked up a spoon and a spatula from the drawer. Swedish Chef. He could do Swedish Chef. He _was_ Swedish, damn it! "Yorn desh born, der hur de disk der du, ye borsh dee born desh de umn…" Berwald gestured wildly with the implements as he sang the nonsense words, then tossed the spoon into the air to crash into the bench behind him. "…bork bork bork!"

Tino stared blankly for only a brief second before bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter. "Oh my God! How do you even…" He shook his head in astonishment and practically bounced on his seat. "Do it again!"

Berwald felt his chest swell with some silly sort of pride at Tino's reaction. "Noo, today vee goona hurdy burdy eggsky orn de born bork." Berwald reached for the pan. "Yoo plece-a zee eggs in zee pun, den smakar skit hur de squeer de eggsky…" Berwald proceeded to splatter an unfortunate egg quite enthusiastically with the spatula. "Smakar de eggsky…"

Tino's eyes shone as he clapped a hand to his chest and bent over the bench laughing. "That's _perfect, _Berwald! You can do Swedish Chef!" Tino was laughing. Tino had the most beautiful laugh in the world and he was laughing because of him. Berwald hadn't felt his chest so light in years.

"Den yuoo meke-a squeer-a yuu…" Berwald let an egg fall and smash on the bench. He shrugged and picked up another. "A ver de gurdy eggsky, inne de ge poot." He dropped the second egg, then the spatula, then knocked the bottle of oil into the sink. Finally he successfully cracked an egg into the pot. "Eggsky, inne de ge poot."

Tino put a hand to his face and shook his head. He managed to look completely stunned and utterly wracked with laughter at the same time. Berwald felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He forgot about his worries, about eviction, about everything, because Tino was adorable, and perfect, and he was laughing with him. Sometimes Berwald felt like he'd done nothing but unintentionally scare Tino since he arrived here; now, he wanted desperately to keep him laughing.

"Noo, vee goona…"

"OI!"

Berwald froze, hands in mid-air, and Tino broke off laughing. Denmark stood in the doorway, his arms folded and an annoyed expression on his face. "No one does Swedish Chef in this house but me."

There was a brief pause, then Tino and Berwald both burst into laughter. Denmark's mouth fell open. "Holy shit. Norge, baby, get the camera! Sweden's laughing!"

Norway pushed Denmark out of the way. "I told you he wasn't a robot," he said, grabbing a piece of toast from the toaster.

"Terminator. I said terminator."

"Oh, great, food!" Iceland also pushed Denmark out of the way while heading for the bench. "I'm starving."

Berwald shrugged and took five plates from the cupboard. He was a little disappointed at being interrupted. But then Tino smiled at him, laughter still in his eyes. "Come on, Den, don't be mad - Berwald _is_ the Swedish chef. If anything, you're the Danish Chef."

Denmark looked contemplative as he leant against the egg-splattered bench. "The Danish chef, hey? I like that. I bet the Danish Chef can kick the Swedish Chef's ass. I bet his mustache is even bigger." Denmark's eyes lit up as he nodded, a look of intense concentration on his face. "Yeah. He probably has, like, twelve Michelin stars. Shit, there's a wait list of six _months_ to get into the Danish Chef's restaurant." Denmark slammed a hand on the bench. "The Swedish Chef _wishes_ he were as culinarily awesome as the Danish Chef."

Norway raised an eyebrow. "What's his specialty dish? Mixing an olive with a bottle of akvavit, drinking the lot, then passing out on the front lawn?"

Tino laughed loudly. "How about the Norwegian Chef? Tells the Danish Chef to get his ass in the kitchen and cook his damn dinner."

"Or the Finnish Chef," said Iceland, winking at Tino. "Forgets the stove is on and burns down the kitchen."

Tino looked slightly offended. "Hey, that only happened twice."

"Ye make good coffee," said Berwald. Yes, all he did was pour hot water over instant mix, but it always tasted better when Tino made it.

Tino broke into a wide grin. "You see! Berwald believes in my culinary abilities!"

Denmark snorted loudly. "That's because he's in love with you." Norway threw a piece of toast at Denmark's head. "What? It's not like it isn't completely obvious to everyone in a ten mile radius. Uh oh, was rule number nine followed here, Swedish Chef? Did these eggs have smiley faces before you deprived them of their shells and smashed them on the bench?"

Berwald was certain his face was burning red. Norway started serving from the pan; Iceland reached across the bench for the toast. No one seemed to notice Denmark's throwaway, inescapably true observation.

Tino rolled his eyes. "Den, considering the way you've blown our money, I think we're entitled to your eggs."

Denmark winked and wagged his eyebrows. "Only Norway's entitled to my eggs."

"Urgh." Tino looked at the eggs on his plate and shuddered. This time Iceland threw toast at Denmark's head. Norway just dropped a plate of eggs and toast in front of the giggling Dane.

"Shut up and eat."

Berwald placed the bacon from the pan onto a plate. "There's bacon too."

Denmark shook his head and raised a hand, palm outwards. "I don't eat bacon, for religious reasons."

Berwald's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Religious?"

Denmark nodded proudly. "I am an observant frisbeetarian."

At Berwald's puzzled look, Tino explained. "When you die, your soul gets stuck on the roof, like a frisbee."

Berwald was beyond questioning. "'f course."

Denmark nodded fervently. "When you've examined all the options it just makes sense. I have some literature you may be interested in seeing…"

The conversation continued as they ate, and it wasn't long until a strange semblance of normality settled over the kitchen. Everyone even stayed to help clean up, something Berwald had never seen happen since he moved in. Just as they were putting away the last of the clean plates, a knock sounded at the door. Iceland jumped up quickly. "I'll get it."

Denmark shouted after him. "I'm not in the country."

Moments later Iceland shouted from the front door, harsh panic in his voice. "LUKAS!"

The atmosphere in the kitchen changed immediately. Denmark knocked over his chair, Tino turned white, and Norway simply ran before Berwald even had time to wonder at the unfamiliar name.

Following the other's frantic rush, Berwald's stomach turned and his nerves stood on edge when he reached the front room. The front door was open, Iceland already halfway back across the room. And standing in the doorway, his hand holding back the door and that eternal smile on his lips, stood Ivan Braginski. Norway marched furiously towards him. "Get out."

Ivan ignored him and took a step inside. "We need to have a conversation."

Norway practically growled as he drew to a stop between Ivan and Iceland, fists clenched and shoulders tense. "I said, get the fuck out."

"I do not wish to speak with you," said Ivan flippantly. He stood easily in the room as though he belonged there. "I wish to speak with Mr Køhl…"

"Don't you _dare_ use that name in this house, Russki!" Denmark shouted as he stormed across the room. Norway stopped him with a hand to his chest.

Berwald gritted his teeth and drew himself to his full height. His blood rushed madly to his head. He had no idea what the Russian was doing here, but Berwald had seen before what the man could do when angry, and he doubted anyone in this house had the slightest idea how dangerous this could get. Berwald's eyes darted towards Tino, who stood uncertainly beside him, silent and observing. Ivan simply looked amused. "If you insist… _Denmark_. I hear you are still harassing my friends."

Denmark snarled. "Your little minions approached _us,_ Russia. And any friend of yours is an enemy of mine." Norway's hand seemed to be the only thing restraining Denmark from charging at Ivan. Iceland stood behind Den and Norway, his jaw clenched and his arms drawn to his chest.

Ivan simply waved a hand, visibly unconcerned by the heavy tension in the room. "That is the least of my concerns. I am much more worried for your financial situation."

Berwald could sense everyone in the room stare in confused silence. How could Ivan possibly know about that? Denmark's furious expression faltered. "I don't know what you're on about, Russki."

Ivan clasped his hands before him. He acted like they were having a pleasant conversation about the weather. "It has come to my attention that you are on the point of eviction, yes?"

Denmark looked stunned. "Wha... huh..." And then he turned furious again. "What are you still doing here? Get the fuck out of my house!"

Berwald squared his shoulders and felt his hands twitch. If Denmark started a fight here, the stupid Dane could not finish it on his own. Ivan obviously knew this. "But it is not your house, Denmark. And so you see my problem. If you can not even pay your rent, how are you ever going to pay the debt you owe me?"

Berwald's blood froze. He felt sick. "Den. Ye don't have a debt with the Russian?"

"What? Its just a little something I owe from poker..."

Berwald closed his eyes, put a hand to his forehead, and let out a long breath. Denmark owed Ivan. This was not good. This was beyond not good. This was disastrous...

Ivan sounded like he was having the time of his life. But of course – the Russian loved to terrorise people. "My friend Berwald here can tell you quite well what a little quandary you are in."

Berwald opened his eyes and glared. To play his games in the worst parts of town with the worst men in the city was one thing. But this was just a house of kids - crazy and stupid kids, yes, but innocent nonetheless. What the hell was Ivan doing playing these games with them? "Ye've got him on rising interest, don't ye, Ivan? Th'type he can never pay back."

Denmark interrupted. "What's the big deal, I've got a debt with the bank too..."

"The bank just takes yer money," Berwald snapped. "The Russian takes..." Berwald trailed off as Ivan's smile twisted cruelly. _Everything…_ But this time, Berwald was not going to let him get away with it. He drew himself up, took two threatening steps forward, and narrowed his eyes. He never needed to do much to convey an aura of intimidation. The others watched in silent anticipation. "You're a gambling man, Ivan. Let's play for this."

Ivan turned his head, laughed, and waved a hand at Denmark dismissively. "I've played this child. He is an extraordinarily untalented card player. I am done with him."

"What the hell does that… _arghl…_" Norway silenced Denmark with a swift kick.

Berwald raised his chin. "Then play me. Or try."

Ivan's cold eyes flashed, his expression a dark warning behind his fake, ever-present smile. "Oh Berwald, I thought you'd put all that behind you. Besides, I've had my fun with you." He lowered his eyes and smirked. "I see you still wear your father's watch. I wonder what the old fool would think if he could see you now."

Berwald dug his nails into his palm, forcing himself to contain the unbearable anger that boiled in his chest. "Cards, Ivan." He almost shouted the words. "You 'nd me. 'f I win, ye drop Den's debt, and ye pay us the int'rest. And 'f I lose, I'll take on Den's debt m'self."

"Wait a minute…" Denmark started.

"_Hold mund," _spat Norway.

Ivan tapped his chin as he considered. "I pay you the interest? That is quite a considerable sum. You would even be able to pay your rent and stay in this house. But even if you do take on this silly boy's debt, what incentive is in it for me?"

Berwald spread his hands. The old negotiation came back easily. "Come on, Ivan. I know as well as you the games ye like to play. Ye were determined t'destroy me once, but look... I'm still standing." Berwald smirked, bared his teeth, and raised a shoulder. "Care t'try again?"

For a brief moment, as they glared at each other across the room, Berwald thought he had won. But the moment Ivan's gaze fell on Tino, Berwald realised the enormous mistake he had just made.

"Do you know…" said Ivan slowly, his evil smile lighting up his entire face. "This could be fun."

Berwald tried frantically to backtrack. "Actually, I…"

Ivan just grinned gleefully. Berwald started to wonder if the Russian had planned this the entire time. "Poker, I assume? We'll start with a low buy-in."

"Look, maybe there's another…"

"Of course, I insist you all play." Ivan glanced towards Iceland, who drew his arms closer to his chest and looked away. "I even leave it to you to choose the dealer."

Denmark tried to rush forward angrily, but was again stopped by Norway. "Oh, we'll be there, Russia. We'll be there, and we're gonna kick your ass, _du er et_ _røvhul, rend mig et vist sted…_"

Berwald closed his eyes briefly. He would have a hard enough time defeating Ivan on his own. But if the others played… if _Denmark_ played… Oh, God, what had he done…

"Wonderful!" cried Ivan, clapping his hands together delightedly. "Saturday night, shall we say? I look forward to it!" Then he snickered softly, winking at Berwald. "I knew you'd come back."

Ivan turned and swept towards the door, leaving five angry, stunned, silent Scandinavians behind him. But just before he reached the door, Ivan paused and tilted his head. "Who are they?" he asked, nodding towards Faeroe and Greenland asleep on the couch.

"Our pets," replied Denmark simply.

Ivan's eyebrows shot up. He looked rather impressed. "Kinky."

The moment Ivan closed the door behind him, Norway turned and fixed Berwald with a furious glare. "All right, Swedish Chef. What have you gotten us into?"

Tino interrupted before Berwald could respond furiously. "Berwald didn't get us into this mess, Norway. He's just given us a way to get out of it."

"With poker?" Norway laughed. It was the most emotion Berwald had seen the Norwegian show, and it was strangely terrifying. "Poker's the _reason_ we're in this mess!"

"No," said Iceland firmly. He still looked a little shaken, but also grimly determined. "We only played that stupid game to try and beat Ivan. And we failed, spectacularly. But maybe…" Iceland looked at Berwald appraisingly. "Maybe with Sweden we can win."

Norway raised his chin. He didn't look convinced. "Well, Sweden? Yesterday you said that no one wins against Ivan. And now you think you can beat him?"

Berwald shifted uncomfortably as four sets of eyes regarded him curiously. Oh, God… what _had_ he gotten into? "I…" He looked from Norway's challenging stare, to Iceland's confident gaze, to Denmark's still vaguely angry look of bewilderment. "I think…" Then Berwald looked at Tino: his resolute expression, his trusting, eyeliner-stained eyes. If Berwald could beat Ivan, they could stay in this house. This was his only chance; the only chance he had to stay with the only person he loved. Berwald took a deep breath and returned Norway's stare. "I think I'm th'only one who can."

Denmark suddenly broke into manic laughter. "Fuck, yes! I am IN!"

Iceland grinned. "Hell yes. Let's teach that son of a bitch a lesson."

"You can do it." Tino nodded, smiling. "I know you can, Berwald."

Norway just raised an eyebrow perceptively. "I hope you're ready for this, Sweden. For your sake."

Berwald ignored what that might mean. He ignored what he already knew: Ivan played dirty, and he liked to destroy people, and he knew just how to do it. But Berwald knew how to fight back. This time, he had a _reason _to fight back. "Ye can all play poker, right?"

Denmark, Norway and Iceland all agreed. Only Tino shook his head. He smiled up at Berwald, earnest and dishevelled and beautiful. "Will you teach me?"

.

"And this is four of a kind. Tough t'beat."

Berwald placed the cards down and Tino studied them carefully. They sat opposite each other on Tino's bedroom floor, the bright lamps casting soft shadows on the bedspread behind them. Quiet music Berwald did not recognise played from tiny speakers beside Tino's desk. This was still the cleanest, brightest room in the house, though Berwald was grateful he no longer had to sleep in the tiny alcove in the corner. Tino tapped his chin thoughtfully as he stared at the cards. He had picked things up amazingly fast so far. "Four of a kind. Tough to beat. You can beat it, though?"

Berwald nodded. "Yes. There's only one hand ye can't beat."

Tino looked up, interested. Berwald noticed that his violet eyes seemed darker in the lamplight. "What's that?"

"This one." Berwald took five cards from the deck and lay them out on the grey carpet, one by one. All hearts: Ten, Jack, Queen, King, Ace. Berwald gestured a hand over them. "Royal flush. Hearts. Can't beat't."

Tino looked amused at that. "So, hearts is highest?

"Yes."

Tino gave a tiny laugh, lowering his head so that his hair fell in his eyes. "That makes sense."

Berwald felt his heart skip in his chest, and wondered when the room had become so warm. He tugged at his shirt collar and quickly focused on reshuffling the cards. These little moments with Tino were the best of Berwald's life. Berwald wasn't sure if that said more about the kind of life he had lived, or about how desperately he was infatuated with this beautiful Finn. Either way, it was both scary and wonderful at the same time.

"Where did you learn to play?"

Berwald shook himself from his thoughts and answered Tino's quiet question. "M'father taught me."

Tino tilted his head, his eyes connected with Berwald's. No one had ever listened to Berwald as earnestly and as honestly as Tino always did. "For fun, or…"

Berwald understood Tino's unasked question. Tino knew some of Berwald's unpleasant past by now. Perhaps it was time to explain it a little more – after all, Berwald trusted Tino to hear it. Even if he was scared of how he would react. He took a very deep breath, tapped his cards against the ground, and began.

"M'mother died when I was fourteen. We moved from Sweden the next year – I think m'Dad was trying t'escape the memories." At first Berwald faltered over the words. They quickly became easier, however, until he barely remembered that he found speaking uncomfortable. "But once we got here, ev'rthing just got – worse. He struggled to adjust t'the diff'rent life. He couldn't speak English, so he couldn't get a job. There was only one thing he ever thought he was good at – poker. He found places to play, people in th'business. It's not hard when ye know where to look. I'd go with him to play, and he taught me. And he was good – not the best, but he won more than he lost. He made enough t'buy us a small house, t'buy me books fer school. Sometimes if he had a good night he'd come home with beer and marshmallows and those disgustin' pickled herrings he liked so much."

Berwald almost smiled, then broke off at the painful memories. He was not used to speaking so much, especially about something so personal, and in some strange way he was not sure if he was doing it correctly. Tino, however, watched him as though engrossed, silent, still clutching his hand of cards. He was the first person Berwald had ever spoken to of these things. He was the first person Berwald had ever cared enough to speak to of such things. Berwald looked down and took another deep breath before continuing. "Like I said, he was good. Th'other players were scared 'f him, I think - scared 'f us. There was only one man who wasn't. Who spoke t'us, and helped us." Berwald paused briefly. "The Russian."

Tino's eyes widened. He seemed to understand immediately. "Oh. You mean…"

Berwald nodded. "Braginski. He was only young – not much older than me. But he was 'lready unbeatable. He said he would help us. Ev'ry time we lost, the Russian would lend us money. But ev'ry time we won, the Russian would raise the interest. Event'lly, we couldn't keep up. When we lost ev'rything, again, m'father lost hope. He drank too much. He got sick, but he wouldn't stop drinkin'. Event'lly, it killed him." Berwald stopped again. Why was he saying this? Surely he was only bothering Tino, surely he was only making him uncomfortable, surely… Berwald's thoughts fell to pieces and his heart stuttered to a halt in his chest when Tino's hand reached out and brushed his. It was only quick, a brief gentle touch of sympathy, and it was over before Berwald could be sure he felt it. When Berwald's thoughts flew back together, Tino was already fidgeting attentively with the cards in his fingers.

"Do you know that your accent has grown lighter? I'm sorry. I just noticed. Please, Berwald, continue."

Berwald nodded and, with a racing heart and a burning hand, continued quickly. "After he died, I found out just how much debt he had with the Russian. Found out when I went to a gamblin' house t'visit a 'lawyer' – a man'f the Russians. He showed me a document signed by m'father." All of Berwald's emotions swung abruptly to anger, just remembering that moment. The moment he found out just how deeply his father had been used and betrayed by Ivan Braginski. The moment Berwald had snapped completely. "Th'paper showed that m'father had signed ev'rything we owned over to Braginski. Our house, our savings... ever'thing. But it wasn't th'house and th'money that mattered – it was how the Russian treated him. M'father could barely speak English. He certainly couldn't read it. He would've had no idea what he was signing. I tried t'explain, but it didn't matter. It was legal, and it was done."

Tino's expression was frozen in dismayed disbelief, though his hands still fidgeted restlessly with the cards. "Oh my gosh. That's awful. What did you do?"

Berwald paused, rubbed his neck, and answered slowly. "I got… angry."

Tino's fingers stopped moving and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. "You? Angry?"

Berwald looked at the floor. Tino did not need to know. He did not need to know how Berwald had grabbed the crooked, underground lawyer by the collar, had punched him over and over and over again, had viciously slammed the man's head onto the desk. Tino did not need to know how Berwald had overturned the furniture, thrown chairs against the wall and smashed the windows, had almost destroyed the dingy backroom office before the police charged through the door. Tino did not need to know how Berwald faced charges of grievous bodily assault, property damage, theft, and a dozen other offences Braginski managed to level at him. Tino did not need to know how Berwald had spent a year in prison only to come out hated by society, with nowhere to go and no prospects, and had fallen back into the one thing he knew how to do – cards. Yes, he had found the groundskeeper job at the university, in no small thanks to former gambler Professor Beilschmidt's generous help, but the fact remained – Berwald had never been able to stay away from that sleazy world of underworld gambling for long. But Tino did not need to know that; so Berwald just shrugged offhandedly. "Yes. Did thing's 'm not proud'f. Things I'll never do again."

Tino nodded. That seemed to be enough explanation for him, and thankfully he did not press further. He just said, again, "I'm sorry. It sounds like your father really tried – like he cared about you." Tino smiled, then looked at his hands.

"Yeah." Berwald wondered why he didn't feel anxious about the words he had spoken to Tino. Instead, he just felt relieved.

Tino let out a long breath. "So Ivan really took everything from you?"

His savings, his house, his father… Berwald relaxed his clenched fists. "Yes."

"You kept this, though." Tino reached out and gently took Berwald's antique pocket watch from his front pocket. He smiled as he looked at it, and Berwald followed his gaze, swallowing heavily at the growing tingling sensation from Tino's fingers against his chest. The long black hands of the watch read seven o'clock against the worn gold setting.

"Yes," said Berwald quietly. The watch meant more to him than anything he had ever owned. "This's mine. He'll never have't."

Tino's beautiful violet eyes grew slightly distant. "You're very lucky, you know. Having something to remember your father like this. All my father gave me when he kicked me out was bus fare."

Berwald looked up sharply. Again, he felt a wave of fierce anger for someone he'd never even met. How could anyone do that to Tino? Then Berwald remembered Denmark's broken conversation in the study earlier. How could _anyone_ do that to their child – to someone they loved? Berwald's father might not have been perfect, but he loved Berwald. At least he had that.

Before Berwald could think of a way to respond to Tino's harrowing words, Tino drew back his hand. "Thank you for telling me that, Berwald," he said softly. "I suppose everyone has their pain and their regret - no matter how strong they appear." Tino looked down at the cards in his left hand, his eyes a little sad and unsure, then laid them down carefully on the carpet. "So, I have these five..." Tino gestured over the four, five, six, seven, and ten; all of different suits.

Berwald looked down at the cards and raised his eyebrows. He was grateful that Tino seemed to know exactly when to change the subject. "S'interesting hand. Ye need to throw in the ten."

Tino bit his lip thoughtfully. "And hope for an eight, yes?

"Yes. Unlikely, but ye'll win if ye do."

Tino picked up the ten, tossed it in the centre, and watched as Berwald dealt him out another. He picked it up, smiled, and looked up at Berwald. "Guess what?" Tino flicked the card around between his fingers - a black eight of spades.

Berwald smiled back. What a lucky catch… "Catch perf'ct."

Tino looked confused. "Huh?"

Berwald nodded at the eight of spades. "To get the one card ye need t'win. T'complete the set of five. Catch perf'ct."

Tino laughed softly. "Catch perfect. I like that." He brushed the hair from his face; his hand strong but soft, his hair like falling silk. Berwald shook his head and told himself to stop with the similes. After all, he could not compare Tino to anything – there was nothing perfect enough to compare him to. All Berwald could do was accept that he had never loved anyone like Tino, would never love anyone like him, and that if Berwald lost him now, he would lose the only thing he'd ever had worth losing. Berwald had always bet with nothing much to lose. Now, with an upcoming game against the only man he had ever hated, Berwald realised. This time, he had everything to lose.

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
